"The medical experts," Gwen sneered.
"Well, they've delivered a lot of babies," Rick said.
"Sure. And lost a lot of mothers. Rick, I'm scared out of my mind!"
"Sure you are," Rick said. "Mind if I sit down?"
"Suit yourself."
"Thanks. Look, I've probably started a population explosion here, but I've taught them the beginnings of the germ theory of disease," Rick said.
"You couldn't have. I've tried," Gwen said.
"You didn't go about it the right way. I told them diseases were caused by little tiny devils, and that blessed soap and boiled holy water would drive them away. They can accept that." He looked thoughtful. "You know, I maybe right about a population explosion. It happened that way on Earth."
Before the end of the nineteenth century, women often died of "childbed fever." But then came Ignaz Semmelweis with his theory that childbed fever was caused by physicians' dirty hands. His colleagues forced him to resign for saying it was their fault, but though he ended his days in a madhouse eventually enough of them believed him-after that most women lived to raise their children and have more. "There's no way we won't change things here," Rick said. "It isn't easy, but I'm trying to look ahead. Maybe we can avoid some of the problems we had on Earth."
"Maybe we can't."
"Look, dammit, snap out of it," Rick said. "You're working yourself into a depression. Keep it up and you'll get to me, too."
"I'm sorry," Gwen said. "I really am. But it all seems so futile."
"Why? Because we can't go home? We can make a home here," Rick said. "And-dammit, Gwen, we're more useful here than we ever were back on Earth. There wasn't much chance that anything we'd do there would change history, but we can here. We've already changed political history. We've got peace with the Empire and land to farm. Even if Marselius loses, we can hold those border hills for long enough to get in a harvest. With the new plows I've got the smiths working on, we'll triple the yields. We've helped these people already, and there's a lot more we can do!
"Sure, I've got an ambiguous status. The bards are trying to make up ballads about the raid, and they keep running into the fact that I never fought anybody. They can't figure out if I'm a war leader or a mere wizard. But whatever I am, everyone wants to learn from us.
"Gwen, we can start a university! Well, we start with grade school. But we can found a learning center that will really change this world. Look at what we can teach! Just the idea of scientific method and experimental science will bring on a revolution. And mathematics. We're not genius level, but we know more about geometry and algebra than was known on Earth through most of history. Medicine. Dental hygiene. Physics. Even electricity. I'm not up to transistors, but I can make batteries and vacuum tubes and-what the hell's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Rick, for God's sake-you haven't built radios, have you?"
"Not yet. I'm still having trouble getting wire. But-"
"Don't! Please, please don't." Her voice held genuine panic.
"I see," Rick said. He stood arid went to her, then took both her hands in his. "Don'tyou think it's time you told me about it?" he asked. "For God's sake, Gwen, what did Les tell you, and why can't you tell me?"
Tears welled in her eyes. "We're safe now," she said. "Just don't change anything. Oh, Rick, I'm scared-"
"I know you are. But I don't know why. Gwen, please. Please tell me."
She buried her face in her hands and wouldn't talk anymore.
Three days later a messenger arrived from the west. Drumold summoned his counselors to his great hall to hear the news.
The messenger was a young clansman who was proud of his mission. He said greetings to Drumold, then spoke to Tylara. "Six days ago there came to Tar Kartos a dozen lords and knights of Drantos. They had traveled in great haste and could go no farther. One lord asked if the Lady Tylara lived. All were overjoyed to learn you are safe in your father's hall. They then asked my chief to send a messenger to you, and I left that night. They asked me to greet you as Great Lady, Eqetassa of Chelm, and to say they regret they cannot come to you. They beg you to come to them."
"Eqetassa of Chelm? But I have been driven from that land," Tylara said. "Who are they?"
For answer the messenger held out a signet ring.
"Camithon? But I saw him die," Tylara said. "He was thrown from the battlements."
"A trick to bringyou to them," Drumold muttered. "Sarakos hates you yet."
The messenger looked pained. "Do you say that Clan Ebolos aids enemies of Mac Clallan Muir?" he demanded.
"No, no," Drumold protested. "But I do not understand what they want of my daughter."
"Nor I," the messenger said. "But Calad my chief listened long to their story. Then he bade me speak these words: 'I have learned that which is of great importance to all the clans of Tamaerthon. I beg that Mac Clallan Muir and the Lady Eqetassa come to Tar Kartos with all haste.'"
"In this winter?" Drumold demanded. "Nay, it will wait until the snow is gone from the passes."
"My chief says not."
"Father, you may wait," Tylara said. "But I have never heard that Calad is easily alarmed, or that he does not know how deep the snow lies in the passes.
As for me – do you return now?" she asked the messenger.
"As soon as I am dismissed," he said.
"Then tell your chief that the dowager Eqetassa of Chelm will arrive as quickly as she is able."
"Tylara, is this wise?" Rick asked.
"What has wisdom to do with it? Sarakos may sit in my council hall, but they are my people yet."
Damnation, Rick thought. Of course she'll go. "I'll get things ready," he said. "We can leave in the morning."
"I had hoped you would come with me," Tylara said. For the first time in several days, she smiled at him.
Drumold sighed. "Tell Calad your chief that Mac Clallan Muir will join him within a ten-day, and that the Lady Eqetassa will accompany him."
Tar Kartos was at the western edge of the mountainous highlands that formed Tamaerthon, and over the centuries had been built into a strongly walled town. After five days' travel across the frozen lochs, Rick was glad to reach the somber fortress.
Calad, chief of Clan Ebolos, was nominally subordinate to Drumold as Mac Clallan Muir, but that was a point no one wanted to stress too hard. When Drumold's party was invited into Calad's council hall, Drumold was content to take a place opposite Calad and leave the question of which end of the table was head and which foot for someone else to worry over.
Besides Calad and his advisors there were half a dozen knights and bheromen of Drantos. Before they could be presented, Tylara ran up to their leader-an elderly soldier whose craggy face held a long ugly scar. "Camithon!" she cried. "I could not believe, even though I hold your ring and heard them describe you. I saw you thrown from the battlements of Castle Dravan."
"Nay, Lady, I was not thrown. Before they could do that, I broke free of them and jumped. Would I not know the places where the moat is closest to the walls? Once away from Dravan, I had aid from the countryside until I could join Protector Dorion and the young Wanax… You must not know, then: I am Lord Protector of Drantos."
"Protector-"
"Aye. Dorion was killed in the battle with Sarakos. To say this is to say little. He was torn to shreds by thunder weapons. Aye, at my side, and we nearly a league from the battle."