But what about Gesalla?
She was too loyal to consider leaving without him. Such was her character that the very fact of their drifting apart mentally would cause her to cleave to him all the more in body, in obedience to her marriage vows. He doubted if she had even yet admitted to herself that she was.…
Lain’s eyes, darting urgently over the time-deep panorama surrounding him, fastened on the image of a small child at play. It was a vignette, at the triangular juncture of three larger scenes, and showed a male infant absorbed with what appeared to be a doll which he was holding in one hand. His other hand was outstretched to the side, as though carelessly reaching for a familiar pet, and just beyond it was a featureless circle. The circle was devoid of coloration and could have represented several things — a large ball, a balloon, a whimsically placed Overland — but Lain was oddly tempted to see it as a ptertha.
He picked up a lantern and went closer to the picture. The intensified illumination confirmed that the circle had never contained any pigment, which was strange considering that the long-dead artists had shown great scrupulousness and subtlety in their rendering of other less significant subjects. That implied that his interpretation had been wrong, especially as the child in the fragmentary scene was obviously relaxed and unperturbed by the nearness of what would have been an object of terror.
Lain’s deliberations were interrupted by the sound of someone entering the cave. Frowning with annoyance, he raised the lantern, then took an involuntary pace backwards as he saw that the newcomer was Leddravohr. The prince’s smile flicked into existence for a moment as he emerged from the narrow passage, battle sword scraping the wall, and ran his gaze around the cave.
“Good aftday, Prince,” Lain said, dismayed to find that he was beginning to tremble. Many meetings with Leddravohr during the course of his work for the S.E.S. had taught him to retain most of his composure when they were with others and in the humdrum atmosphere of an office, but here in the constricted space of the cave Leddravohr was huge, inhumanly powerful and frightening. He was far enough removed from Lain in mind and outlook to have stepped out of one of the primitive scenes glowing in the surrounding half-light.
Leddravohr gave the entire display a cursory inspection before speaking. “I was told there was something remarkable here, Maraquine. Was I misinformed?”
“I don’t think so, Prince.” Lain hoped he had been able to keep a tremor out of his voice.
“You don’t think so? Well, what is it that your fine brain appreciates and mine doesn’t?”
Lain sought an answer which would not frame the insult Leddravohr had devised for him. “I haven’t had time to study the pictures, Prince — but I am interested in the fact that they are obviously very old.”
“How old?”
“Perhaps three or four thousand years.”
Leddravohr snorted in amusement. “That’s nonsense. You’re saying these scrawls are far older than Ro-Atabri itself?”
“It was just my opinion, Prince.”
“You’re wrong. The colours are too fresh. This place has been a bolt hole during one of the civil wars. Some insurgents have hidden out here and.…“Leddravohr paused to peer closely at a sketch depicting two men in a contorted sexual position. “And you can see what they did to pass the time. Is this what intrigues you, Maraquine?”
“No, Prince.”
“Do you ever lose your temper, Maraquine?”
“I try not to, Prince.”
Leddravohr snorted again, padded around the cave and came back to Lain. “All right, you can stop shaking — I’m not going to touch you. It may interest you to learn that I’m here because my father has heard about this spider hole. He wants the drawings accurately copied. How long will that take?”
Lain glanced around the walls. “Four good draughtsmen could do it in a day, Prince.”
“You arrange it.” Leddravohr stared at him with an unreadable expression on his smooth face. “Why does anybody give a fig about the likes of this place? My father is old and worn out; he has soon to face flying to Overland; most of our population has been wiped out by the plague, and the remainder are getting ready to riot; and even some units of the army are becoming unruly now that they are hungry and it has dawned on them that I soon won’t be here to look after their welfare — and yet all my father is concerned about is seeing these miserable scrawls for himself. Why, Maraquine, why?”
Lain was unprepared for the question. “King Prad appears to have the instincts of a philosopher, Prince.”
“You mean he’s like you?”
“I didn’t intend to elevate myself to.…”
“Never mind all that. Was that supposed to be your answer? He wants to know things because he wants to know things?”
“That’s what ‘philosopher’ means, Prince.”
“But.…” Leddravohr broke off as there was a clattering of equipment in the cave entrance and the sergeant of Lain’s personal guard appeared. He saluted Leddravohr and, although agitated, waited for permission to speak.
“Go on, man,” Leddravohr said.
“The wind is rising in the west, Prince. We are warned of ptertha.”
Leddravohr waved the sergeant away. “All right — we will leave soon.”
“The wind is rising quickly, Prince,” the sergeant said, obviously deeply unhappy at lingering beyond his dismissal.
“And a crafty old soldier like you sees no point in taking unnecessary risks.” Leddravohr placed a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder and shook him playfully, an intimacy he would not have granted the loftiest aristocrat. “Take your men and leave now, sergeant.”
The sergeant’s eyes emitted a single flash of gratitude and adoration as he hurried away. Leddravohr watched him depart, then turned to Lain.
“You were explaining this passion for useless knowledge,” he said. “Continue!”
“I.…” Lain tried to organise his thoughts. “In my profession all knowledge is regarded as useful.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of a whole… a unified structure… and when that structure is complete Man will be complete and will have total control of his destiny.”
“Fine words!” Leddravohr’s discontented gaze steadied on the section of wall closest to where Lain was standing. “Do you really believe the future of our race hinges on that picture of a brat playing ball?”
“That isn’t what I said, Prince.”
“That isn’t what I said, Prince,” Leddravohr mocked. “You have told me nothing, philosopher.”
“I am sorry that you heard nothing,” Lain said quietly.
Leddravohr’s smile appeared on the instant. “That was meant to be an insult, wasn’t it? Love of knowledge must be an ardent passion indeed if it begins to stiffen your backbone, Maraquine. We will continue this discussion on the ride back. Come!”
Leddravohr went to the entrance, turned sideways and negotiated the narrow passage. Lain blew out the four lanterns and, leaving them where they were, followed Leddravohr to the outside. A noticeable breeze was streaming over the uneven contours of the hill from the west. Leddravohr, already astride his bluehorn, watched in amusement as Lain gathered the skirts of his robe and inexpertly dragged himself up into his own saddle. After a searching look at the sky, Leddravohr led the way down the hill, controlling his mount with the straight-backed nonchalance of the born rider.
Lain, yielding to an impulse, urged his bluehorn forward on a roughly parallel track, determined to keep abreast of the prince. They were almost halfway down the hill when he discovered he was guiding his animal at speed into a patch of loose shale. He tried to pull the bluehorn to the right, but only succeeded in throwing it off balance. It gave a bark of alarm as it lost its footing on the treacherous surface and fell sideways. Lain heard its leg snap as he threw himself clear, aiming for a clump of yellow grass which had mercifully appeared in his view. He hit the ground, rolled over and jumped to his feet immediately, unharmed but appalled by the agonised howling of the bluehorn as it threshed on the clattering flakes of rock.