Part 94 (2/2)

”Binocular vision, my dear. Two eyes are much better than one. And, of course, you're happy.”

The Royals were mounting the central dais before the twin stands, taking a position facing the eastern range of hills behind Nionel.

”I'm happy-and thankful to you, Greggy,” she said. And then she peeped sidelong from beneath the ruby-studded bridal headdress. ”Am I really beautiful now?”

Greg-Donnet kissed his fingertips in an extravagant gesture.

”More than that. You're splendid.”

Her mind still held a shadow of uncertainty. ”Oh, Greggy, if only my Tonee were here to see. How will I bear the waiting?”

”Just a few days,” he soothed her. ”The King told me that Tony's job will be finished soon. He'll be able to join you before the end of the Tourney ... Now watch the Kings open the sky together. This is something new, to symbolize the bogus Armistice.” He gave a sad giggle. ”A nice sentiment, at any rate.”

The small figure in golden armour and the gigantic one in sharply faceted black lifted Spear and Sword. The photon weapons sent emerald beams slanting skyward and the clouds parted as they had for countless millennia on lost Duat and for a thousand years on Pliocene Earth. As the entire a.s.sembly exerted its creativity, the mist rolled away and a shaft of sunlight shone upon the two monarchs. Tanu and Firvulag and Howler and human voices combined in the Song.

There is a land that s.h.i.+nes through life and time, A comely land through the length of the world's age, And many-coloured blossoms fall on it, From the old trees where the birds are singing, Every colour glows there, delight is commonplace, Music abounds on the Field of Gold, On the Sweet-Scented Field of the Many-Coloured Land, On the Field of Gold to the north.

There is no weeping, no treachery, no grief, There is no sickness, no weakness, no death.

There are riches, treasures of many colours, Sweet music to hear, the best of wine to drink.

Golden chariots contend on the Plain of Sports, Many-coloured steeds run in days of lasting weather.

The host range over the Field of Sports, It is beautiful and not weak their game is.

There will come at sunrise a star of morning, Lighting up the land, riding the wave-beaten plain, Stirring the sea until it turns to blood, Raising the armies before the Singing Stone.

The Stone sings a Song to the host; The music magnifies as all sing together.

Neither death nor the ebbing of the tide Will come to those of the Many-Coloured Land.

Elizabeth said to Aiken, ”The words were different.”

He said, ”Morna-Ia Kingmaker said they were the ones we should sing this year.” He gave her an enigmatic smile.

”Look-here come the Firvulag artisans with the new trophy, the Singing Stone. Carved from a single huge aquamarine.

Rumour hath it that the thing is already programmed to the aura of Sharn and Ayfa. How do you like that for impudence?”

They were sitting in the Tanu royal enclosure watching the preliminary events. A lavish breakfast buffet had been spread and most of the High Table members and their guests were partaking heartily. The King only nibbled an unb.u.t.tered croissant. Elizabeth, whose lower face was still hidden by Brede's heavily gem-encrusted respirator, ate nothing.

She said, ”The line in the Song about a 'star of morning' hit a trifle too close to the bone for my taste.”

Aiken shrugged. ”Marc's probably out there in the mob right this minute laughing himself sick at that cutesy-poo Firvulag folkdance routine going on around the Singing Stone. Florida was never like this.”

”I don't suppose he tried to contact you?”

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