Pliocene Exile - The Adversary Part 53

Kawai shook his head. "You will need every weapon for the infiltration of Roniah. Besides, if the Firvulag know that I am defenceless, why should they molest me-a half-blind octogenarian with a cottage full of cats? No, I will stay and be a caretaker for this good home of ours that sheltered us for so many years.

I will tend the gardens, and keep the pathways free of gra.s.s, and see to the watermill, and secure the buildings against the encroachment of vermin. Some of the liberated livestock also linger-goats and a few chickens, and the big gander that Peppino could not entice into a pannier. I will feed them. And, who knows? Perhaps some day, when the troubles have resolved themselves, human beings may wish to return to Hidden Springs."

"I'd stay, G.o.d knows," Denny Johnson said, "if I thought we'd be left in peace. But you know what Fitharn said."

Kawai frowned. "You believe the tale of a coming Nightfall War?"

"Old Man, I don't know what to believe any more. But one thing's for d.a.m.n sure: I didn't know when I was well off in the Milieu singing for my supper at Covent Garden. They let me go back through that time-gate, I don't care if I have to play Iago in whiteface."

Kawai smothered a giggle in the cat's fur. "Well-umaku iku yo ni, dear friend. Good luck!"

Johnson returned the sentiment, then said to Burke, "We gotta ride now, Redskin, 'fore that caravan gets too far ahead of us on the trail."

"You go along, Yellow-Eye, while I give a last bit of legal advice to this stubborn old carp."

As the other rider melted into the mist, Chief Burke climbed down out of the tall saddle and stood with his fists on his hips before the diminutive j.a.panese. His scarred mahogany face was impa.s.sive, but his voice broke as he said, "Don't do it. Please."

The old man sighed. "Her spirit is here, and I will be safe."

"She'd be the first to tell you what an idiot you are!"

The cat jumped from Kawai's arms and hastened to retrieve one kitten, which had gone off to challenge a prowling toad.

"Listen to me, Peopeo Moxmox. I am proud of the life I lived here in the Pliocene. A life close to nature, full of danger but rich in simple satisfaction. I never yearned to be bus.h.i.+ as you did, only to become a competent craftsman like my ancestors.

Here in this village I made looms and grinding machines and paper and ceramic ware and shoes. I taught my homely skills to others. In a time of need, I even helped to lead our Lowlife people. It was all very good. Even the loss of Madame and Amerie-chan and the others was bearable, taken in the context of the wheel of endless change and eternal sameness. But I feel very tired now, Peo. Even though you and I are very close together in years, I have become truly old while you still retain your vigour. So I will stay here, as I have a right to do. I will pray that you and the others succeed in stealing weapons from Roniah, since you have decided that they are necessary if you are to negotiate with the King. I myself feel that you could use more diplomatic means to insure safe pa.s.sage through the timegate-but I can understand your wis.h.i.+ng to have a power base for bargaining. But this is not for me. Not anymore. My own wheel has nearly turned full circle, and you must forgive me if I am silly enough to want to stay here, in the place I am so proud of."

"You aren't silly, Old Man." Burke bowed from the waist.

"Goodbye."

"I will not say sayonara to you, Peo, but rather, itte ira.s.shai, which means only 'farewell for now.' Please tell the people who are going to Nionel to remember me and visit me here when they can. And if you should change your mind about the timegate, your wigwam will be waiting for you. I shall put a new roof on it before the rains come, and repair the hide-stretching frames."

"Thank you," said Burke.

The old man bowed deeply, and when he straightened, Burke was back in the saddle. The Chief lifted one hand, then spurred the chaliko and galloped away down the streamside trail.

Kawai pursed his lips and gave the undulating whistle that called Dejah and the kittens for their morning collation of fish and goat's milk. He had a frugal breakfast of his own and spent some time pottering about the cottage.

When the mist had burned away and shafts of sunlight stabbed down through the pines he went outside to tidy up the rose garden. The weeds had flourished and the mastodon-manured bushes were in need of pruning. Many were coming into their full bloom, filling the garden with perfume. After he had laboured for nearly three hours he rested on a rustic bench and watched the cat teach her kittens to stalk gra.s.shoppers. Then what to do? "I will bring her flowers!" he decided impulsively.

He selected a jar from those on the shelf of the garden shed and filled it at the spring basin. Then he cut a bouquet of the barely unfurled buds of Precious Platinum, lushly scented and deep red. "Red for martyrs," he told the cat. "And they were a favourite of Madame, as well."

In order to show proper respect, he went to put on clean clothing, shutting the animals inside the cottage before he left so they would not be a distraction. He walked slowly through the deserted cl.u.s.ter of dwellings, crossed the central brook that received the waters of the scores of hot and cold springs that had given the village its name, and continued downstream for half a kilometre along the main trail until he came to the burying ground. A hiss of chagrin escaped him as he noticed how here, too, just three weeks of neglect had allowed the jungle to begin its invasion. Everyone had been too busy with leave-taking preparations to give any thought to the dead.

"Restoring this will be my first priority!" he vowed.

All at once he stood very still, listening.

Over the birdsong and the chatter of a drey of giant squirrels came another sound, deep and rhythmic, that seemed to emanate from the soil under his feet like the earth's own heartbeat. This was joined by a rolling murmur that intensified and revealed itself to be a sonorous contraba.s.so chant, sung by inhuman voices. Kawai had heard it before. It was the marching song of the Firvulag.

He stepped back onto the main trail and looked toward the foot of the canyon. His dim eyes perceived an inky s.h.i.+mmer, shot through with barbaric flashes of coloured light. The drumbeats throbbed and the deep musical humming began to reverberate off the narrowing walls of the gorge as the invaders approached. Kawai saw effigy-topped standards hung with golden blobs, squat marchers armed in obsidian, black-trapped chalikos bearing the ogre officers.

Still holding the jar of red roses, he stood in the middle of the trail and waited.

With dreamlike indifference, the goblin horde advanced. The foot soldiers bore serrated pikes, peculiar new crossbows, and lances tipped with a metal that could only be iron. As the fourabreast column reached him it divided, flowing on either side of him as though he were a rock in the middle of a dark stream.

The chant droned on. Not a single Firvulag took note of him.

He was rooted in the dust, too astonished to be afraid.

When the corps of mounted officers and cavalry reached him they reined up. The infantry marched inexorably on toward the village. Kawai stared at a single gigantic rider, clad from head to toe in glittering plates of black gla.s.s that were ornamented with spikes and k.n.o.bs and jewelled excrescences. The ma.s.sive helmet bore a crest of milk-coloured crystalline horns. The left gauntlet of the apparition was also of white gla.s.s. He carried an enormous gem-crusted s.h.i.+eld, and at his side hung a sheath, from which protruded the handle of some formidable twentysecond-century weapon. Halted behind the leading ogre were two others of less splendid appearance, together with a dwarf officer who looked rather ridiculous perched on the back of a huge grey charger. The company of Firvulag cavalry flared out on either side of Kawai and took up a stance. At an unspoken command they drew laser carbines and solar-powered blasters from saddle scabbards and trained them on the old man.

Kawai bowed gravely to the officers. "Good morning.

Welcome to Hidden Springs Canyon. Under terms of the Armistice attested by King Sharn and Queen Ayfa, you are my honoured guests."

He held out the bouquet of roses.

The Firvulag leader lifted the visor of his helmet, revealing a grotesquely creased visage knit in a ferocious glower. "I am Betularn of the White Hand, Champion and Great Captain and First Comer and Scourge of the Foe!" he declaimed in a grating bellow. "Pray to whatever puny G.o.ds you acknowledge, Lowlife!"

"I have already done so, thank you," said Kawai, stepping close to the monster's chaliko. "Your flowers, Lord Betularn."

He thrust up the roses, smiling and insistent.

There was a rumble from the other officers. The one with the pouter-pigeon cuira.s.s unhelmed and turned out to be a frizzhaired female, who grinned broadly at her superior. "Well, he's got you cold, White Hand-although how a Lowlife ever tumbled to that obscure geis, Te only knows! Take them."

The white gauntlet claimed the flowers. Miraculously, the weapons were lowered. The other two officers opened their visors and looked down upon Kawai with bemus.e.m.e.nt. One of them made a gesture to the mounted troopers, who trotted away toward the village.

"So the gift of flowers has meaning among your people as well as our own," the old man remarked suavely.

Betularn ignored that. He c.o.c.ked his head as though listening, then gave a grunt of surprise. "Gone?" he exclaimed. "What do you mean-gone?" He peered down at the old man. "Where are the rest of the Lowlives?"

Kawai composed his features in an expression of formal regret. "Gomen nasai, Lord Betularn. They have all gone away.

You see, we have suffered so many misfortunes during the past months. Marauding forces acting contrary to the wishes of your Monarchs attacked our peaceful settlements, killing many people. It was decided that these lands are too perilous for human occupation. All of the Lowlives except myself have gone to Nionel, to accept the hospitality so generously offered by Lord Sugoll and his consort, Katlinel the Darkeyed."

"Well, that's one less tiff to distract our lads and la.s.ses," the female officer said. "On to the main event!"

"You shut up, Fouletot," snarled the Great Captain. He asked Kawai, "When did your folks take off?"

"Oh, ages ago. They must be nearly to the Pliktol headwaters by now."

Betularn chewed his grizzled moustaches and tugged at his beard. "d.a.m.n ... we'll have to sidetrack to check this out."

"It's only a week until Truce!" shrilled the dwarf officer.

"You shut up, Pingol!" roared Betularn.