We walk as in a dream. . . .
Soucek stepped down, taking his place behind and to the right of his Master as the senior officers presented themselves. Glancing down, he noticed for the first time that the ground underfoot was hard and glassy where the aerated ice had reformed. Bodies were embedded in it.
As Lehmann went up the line, inspecting the honor guard, he walked over the upturned faces of the dead. Overhead tiny remotes hovered like vultures, catching each word, each gesture, for posterity.
History this was. A turning point. The day the White T'ang came into his kingdom.
Soucek shivered at the thought, a strange thrill of love passing through him. Visak had failed the test, had faltered at the final hurdle, but he had remained true, and now he would live to see his Master crowned, seated upon the dragon throne itself, king of the underworld no more, but king of all.
At the head of the second line Lehmann turned and looked across at him, then nodded. At the signal Soucek went across and, walking behind Lehmann, began to make his way through the crowd to where a platform had been set up. There Lehmann was to address the masses; to rally their spirits before the final attack. Yet even as they passed between the ranks, the deafening sound of cheering rolling on and on, he sensed something was happening. On the platform up ahead a group of officers were gathered about the mobile transmitter, listening anxiously, their faces troubled.
"What is it?" Lehmann asked unceremoniously as he mounted the steps onto the platform.
Soucek, coming up behind Lehmann, saw how they looked to one another, a shock of fear passing among them, then how the most senior of them stepped forward.
"There are rumors, Master. . . ."
"Rumors?"
"Reports . . . from Malaga, Toulon, Taranto . . . and other places."
Lehmann lifted him from his feet, one hand tight about the man's neck. As he did the sound of cheering slowly died, until the whole space between the Cities was silent.
"No babbling, man," Lehmann said quietly, his face only a breath from the other's, his steellike grip almost choking him. "Give me no rumors. Tell me what you know."
He let him fall, then stepped past him, pointing to another. "Tell me what's happened."
"We have been betrayed, Master," the man said, his voice trembling. He fell to his knees, staring up at Lehmann, his eyes wide with fear. "The Mountain Lords have come against us, Master. They have attacked us in the south. Five great armies have come against us." "There are reports?"
"Coming in all the time," another offered, also falling to his knees. "They began twenty minutes back. At first we discounted them. But in the last few minutes—"
"Enough!" Lehmann said, raising his left hand abruptly. He looked to Soucek. "Jiri . . . find out where they are attacking and what strength they have. Then gather my generals south of here, in the captured garrison in Milan. We must hold a Council of War."
"And this, Master?" Soucek said, pointing north, toward what remained of Li Yuan's City.
"Another day," Lehmann said, turning to face the south, his eyes burning coldly in the glass of his face. "First I must give my African cousins the welcome they deserve."
KARR JUMPED DOWN from the cruiser and began to run up the slope of the lawn toward the palace, laughing to himself at the news he brought, imagining the face of his Master when he told him. But as he approached the Eastern Gate, he slowed, hearing bells from within the ancient palace.
Had someone else beaten him here with the news? One of Rheinhardt's young officers, perhaps?
He waited impatiently at the gate while the guards double-checked his ID and ran a hand-held scanner over him, then went through, ducking beneath the low lintel and into the grounds of the inner palace. He expected to hear laughter, the sound of celebration, but there was nothing—only an ominous silence, in which the sound of the bells seemed suspended as if in glass. He jumped down the steps in threes and began to make his way along the path to the center, heading for the Northern Palace, then stopped dead, the breath hissing from him.
From beneath the great arch of the Southern Palace, a procession was emerging, his master, Li Yuan, leading it. Behind him, on an open bier carried by thirty bearers in white silk robes, lay Tsu Tao Chu. His face had been made up as if in the perfect bloom of life, and he wore the dragon robes—the imperial yellow with the nine dragons, eight shown and one hidden. Beneath him the rich furs of the bier were strewn with white petals.
Karr walked slowly toward the procession, then, some twenty ch'i from his Master, fell to his knees, touching his forehead to the earth.
The procession stopped. Li Yuan looked to him, his face ashen. "Is it over, Gregor Karr? Has the White T'ang taken my City?"
Karr lifted his head. "No, Chieh Hsia. We are saved. The Mountain Lords"—he looked beyond Li Yuan a moment, appalled by the sight of the young prince—"Fu Chiang and his cousins . . . they kept their word, Chieh Hsia. They came!"
Li Yuan nodded, but it seemed that even this news had no power to raise his spirits. He sighed heavily, a bitterness in his eyes. "Then my cousin's life was truly wasted, neh?"
"Chieh Hsia?"
Li Yuan stared at Karr bleakly. "We found him an hour back, in his rooms. He had locked the door, then hung himself."
Karr felt the shock of that pass through him. A Son of Heaven, dead by his own hand. It was hard to believe.
"But your news"—Li Yuan gave him the ghost of a smile—"Your news brings us some comfort in these dark hours. We live to fight on, neh, Gregor Karr? We who survived."
"Chieh Hsia." Karr bowed his head, trying not to think of what he had seen that day—of the levels misting into nothing and the people falling. Yes, he thought. For now we are safe. But for how long? The Seven had gone. Li Yuan alone remained. A single man. A Son of Heaven, true, and yet a single man.
Li Yuan put out a hand, gesturing for him to get up.
"Come, Gregor. Walk with me. The time will come to celebrate your news, but now we must place my cousin Tao Chu beside his uncle."
He paused, gathering his full dignity about him once more, then nodded. "It is time to observe the rituals. Time to grieve the dead and see their souls are welcomed in the other world."
INTERLUDE AUTUMN 2217
The Night-Colored Pearl
The Yellow Emperor went wandering
To the north of the Red Water
To the Kwan Lun mountain. He looked around
Over the edge of the world. On the way home
He lost his night-colored pearl.
He sent out Science to seek his pearl, and got nothing.
He sent Analysis to look for his pearl, and got nothing.
He sent out Logic to seek his pearl, and got nothing.
Then he asked Nothingness, and Nothingness had it!
The Yellow Emperor said:
"Strange, indeed: Nothingness
Who was not sent
Who did no work to find it
Had the night-colored pearl!"
—chuang TZU, Writings xii, IV, sixth century b.c.
THE COCKPIT was packed, all nine of them trying to crowd into that tiny space to watch the screen.
Below them lay Chung Kuo, bright in the sunlight. Ebert, in the pilot's seat, frowned, then spoke to the air.
"What's happened, Master Tuan?"
There was a moment's hesitation, then the old man's voice sounded in the cabin, as if from every side.
"Much has changed since you were last here, Hans. The Seven have become One and the world"—he laughed gently—"Some say the world has shrunk. I see it differently. To my eyes the world is a much bigger place these days."