Part 7 (1/2)

Matt bowed. His manner was very smooth and cool, as Ay's would be. ”Since you appear to be a worthy man, Yunguf, we may fight at once to decide this matter... if you have no reason to delay?”

Yunguf flushed; his control slipped for a moment, and Matt saw that beneath it the man was certainly badly frightened-more frightened than such a warrior should be by the prospect of any duel.

The princess's hand fell on Matt's arm; she had put back her veil and now, looking soberly at Matt, she drew him a little aside and spoke to him in a low voice. ”I hope with all my heart that you fare well in this matter, lord. My affections have never belonged to that man.”

”Princess, has he ever asked to marry you?”

”A year ago he did.” Alix's eyes flickered in maidenly modesty. ”As others have. But when I said him nay, he never pressed the matter more.”

”So.” Matt looked across the hall to where Nomis was now intoning over Yunguf's arms a blessing of the Old Religion. Yunguf seemed to need all his courage to keep from shrinking away from the wizard's touch. No, it was not simple death or wounding in a duel that Yunguf feared.

Matt himself could face the personal danger calmly enough. He had spent most of his life within threat of violence from animals or nature- though, as one of The People, he had very rarely been in danger from another human being. The Moderns had given him Ay's lithe hitting power and endurance, had put not only skill but extra speed into his nerves. And they had given him his special sword, which alone could give him advantage enough to win a fight. No, it was not Yunguf s prowess that bothered Matt, it was the very fact of the duel and the changes in history that it must bring.

Save for the king and the princess and the two partic.i.p.ants, everyone seemed happy at the prospect of a little bloodletting. There was a general impatience at the delay necessary for Ay's s.h.i.+eld to be fetched up from the s.h.i.+p. This delay would have allowed Matt time to get away by himself for a minute and report to Operations; but there was nothing he could say to them, or they to him, that would get him out of this duel. So Matt pa.s.sed time in trying to make light conversation with the ladies, while Yunguf stood glowering and almost silent among a group who seemed to be his relatives.

The s.h.i.+eld was soon brought in by Harl, who entered running, displaying every sign of eagerness to see the fight get started-probably with the intention of unsettling his lord's opponent's nerves as much as possible beforehand.

The company moved outside, where they were joined enthusiastically by the minor n.o.bility and such of the commons as could crowd within sight. The king, chair and all, was established at the best vantage point, with the higher n.o.bles around him. This courtyard was evidently consecrated to weaponry, judging by the ma.s.sive timber b.u.t.ts, much hacked and splintered, which stood along its farther side.

The n.o.ble who had whispered to Matt about the betrothal came whispering again, to ask if he was acceptable to the Lord Ay as referee; Matt nodded his agreement.

”Then, my lord, if you will take a stand in the arena.”

Matt moved.to the center of the clear paved s.p.a.ce, which was large enough to allow a good deal of maneuvering, and drew his blade. When he saw Yungiif advancing on him with blade and s.h.i.+eld ready, slow and powerful-looking as a siege tower, he understood that there would be no further preliminaries.

It seemed that at Gorboduc's court killing was much less ritualized than wedding.

The sun had pa.s.sed the zenith by now, the air was warm, and in the windless courtyard even moderate exercise soon raised a sweat. Yungufs approach, with many feints, was slow and cautious almost to the point of parody, but no one watching showed surprise. Probably a feigned slowness at the start was Yungufs usual style. Sure enough, he moved rapidly at last, and Matt stepped quickly back, his s.h.i.+eld-sword-s.h.i.+eld parrying in good order the three blows of the attacking combination. Matt had hoped that at the clash of blades his opponent's sword might break, but the contact had been flat-sided and glancing, and Yungufs weapon was evidently tough. And, Matt realized now, if one sword was broken, another would be provided; if two or three, cries of sorcery would be raised. No, only wounds could now decide the issue.

Matt worked his way back to the middle of the arena, still keeping out of Yungufs way. The knowledge weighed on him that any killing he did today, any wounds he carved, would be disruptive changes that worked to the advantage of the berserkers. But for Matt to be killed or beaten by Yunguf would damage history still more. The onlookers had already begun to murmur; no doubt his deep reluctance for this brawl was showing. He had to win, and the sooner the better-but without killing or maiming, if that were possible.

Matt raised his sword and s.h.i.+eld in readiness as Yunguf moved slowly into attacking range. And when Yunguf charged again, Matt beat him to the thrust, aiming along the side of Yungufs s.h.i.+eld to damage the sword arm's shoulder muscles. But Yunguf was twisting his body with the force of his own lunge; as the huge man's blade slid off Matt's s.h.i.+eld, Yungufs body turned into the path of Matt's thrust, which cut between his upper ribs.

The wound was only moderately deep, and Yunguf was not yet stopped, but his next slash was weak and slow. Matt swayed back just enough to let the blow go by, then lunged in again, blocking sword with sword, hooking the wounded man's knee with his foot and using his s.h.i.+eld to force Yungufs upper body back.

Yunguf fell like a tree, and there was Matt's b.l.o.o.d.y point hovering at his throat, while Matt's foot pinned Yungufs sword wrist to the paving stone.

”Will you-yield to me-the combat-and its prize?” Matt was now aware of his own panting and of Yunguf's whistling, strangely gurgling breath.

”I yield me.” The answer, in strangled tones, came quickly enough. There were no grounds for hesitation.

Matt stepped wearily back, wondering what Ay customarily used to wipe a b.l.o.o.d.y sword blade. Harl came to perform that office for him and to scold him about his hesitancy at the start of the fight. Yungufs relatives had gone to Yungufs aid, and with their help the wounded man seemed to be sitting up easily enough. At least, thought Matt, a killing had been avoided.

He turned to the princess and her father, to find them with frightened eyes fixed on an object that lay on the ground nearby. It was Nomis's outer robe, snowy in the sunlight. The wizard himself was no longer in sight; the white garment discarded was a plain enough signal that he was donning black.

A cough sounded wetly behind Matt, and he turned to see Yunguf with bright blood upon his lips.

The great metal dragon lay motionless, buried almost completely in the muck of the sea bottom. Around it the dull life of the great depths stirred- in safety, for this berserker was now seeking to avoid killing anything. For it to end even a vegetable lifeline nonhistorically could provide a datum for the Moderns'

huge computers, implacable as berserkers themselves, to use in their relentless search for the dragon's keyhole.

The dragon was still under the direct command of the berserker fleet that was besieging the planet in Modern times. On their own variety of sentry screens, that fleet's linked computers had observed the lifting of Ay's s.h.i.+p and crew to Modern times and their subsequent restoration to Ay's time, with one lifeline added.

It was obvious what the Moderns intended, obvious to machines who themselves knew well the theory and practice of baiting traps. But a viable replacement for Ay was bait they could not afford to ignore.

They must strike again, using one of the dragon's weapons.

But this time they must be subtle. The replacement must not be killed, at least not in any way that would spin a new thread of causation.toward the dragon for the Moderns to follow. The linked berserker computers pondered electrically and arrived at what they considered an ideal solution: capture the replacement alive and hold him so, until the pillars of Sirgol's history came cras.h.i.+ng down.

Even while in hiding, the dragon maintained around itself a net of subtle infraelectronic senses. Among the things it now observed in this way was a black-robed man, standing on a pillar of seaside rock about two miles from the berserker's hiding place and speaking on and on, rhythmically, into the empty air.

From data in its memory banks the berserker deduced that this man was attempting to call supernatural forces to his aid.

And in the man's speech it caught the name of Ay.

In the full sunlight of midafternoon, Nomis stood chanting on his pinnacle of rock. The spells of deepest evil were best sung in darkness, but his hate and fear had grown until they seemed to spread a darkness of their own about him. He would not wait for the setting of the sun.

While the seabirds wheeled around him, crying in the wind, he sang in his thin but penetrating voice: Demon of darkness, rise and stalk. Put on the bones and make them walk. Dead men's bones, through the weed and slime, Walk and climb. Walk to me here. Speak to me here Of the secret to bring my enemy's death.

There was more, much more, all cajoling and coercing the dark wet things that waited in the deeps for men to drown-Awaited for fresh-drowned bones to come falling through the fathoms, for limber young corpses that the demons could wear like garments in their endless revels at the bottom of the sea. The dark wet things down there possessed all the knowledge of death, including how the death of Ay might be accomplished-something Yunguf had proven unable to achieve, despite all the supernatural threats Nomis had lavished on the lout.

Nomis's thin arms quivered, holding drowned men's fingers over his head. Then his arms swept low as he bowed, still chanting, eyelids closing out the sun. Today the spells would work, today the hatred was in him like a lodestone, drawing to him things of utter evil.

When he came to a place in the chant where he could pause, he did so. He let down his arms and opened his eyes, wondering if he had heard another sound between the surges of the surf. Under his black robe his old man's chest was heaving with exertion and excitement.

A bird screamed. And from below, from somewhere on the furrowed length of cliff that climbed to this tabletop from the sea, there came once more a sc.r.a.ping sound, almost lost in the noise of wind and surf.

He had just given up listening for a repet.i.tion of the sound and had started to chant again, when, from much nearer the top of the cliff, almost from under Nomis's feet, there came a small clatter, a tumble of stones dislodged by some climbing foot or groping hand. The sound was in itself so ordinary that it momentarily drove all thoughts of magic from the wizard's tired mind. He could only think angrily that someone was about to discover his hideaway.

Before him as he faced the sea was a cleft that climbed to the tabletop between folds of rock. From just out of sight within this cleft he now heard the sound of grit crunched under a heavy foot.

And then Nomis's world was shaken around him, but a proof that put an end to a lifetime's nagging inward doubts. His first glimpse of his climbing visitor showed him a drowned man's skull, one small tendril of seaweed clinging to its glistening crown.

With quick smooth movements the whole creature now climbed into his view. It was a man-form, thinner than any living human but fuller than a skeleton. Drowned skeletons must change when a demon possessed them-this one looked more like metal than bone.

Having emerged completely from the crevice, the demon shape halted. It stood taller than Nomis, so that it bent its skull-head slightly on its cable neck to look at him. He had to struggle not to turn and run, to stand his ground and make himself keep looking into the cloudy jewels that were its eyes. A drop of water sparkled, falling from one bonelike fingertip. Only when the thing took another step toward him did Nomis remember to reinforce his chalked protective ring with a gesture and a muttered incantation.

And then at last he also remembered to complete his astoundingly successful ritual with a binding spell.

”Now you must guide and serve me, until you are released! And serve me first by saying how my enemy can be put to death.”

The s.h.i.+ny jaw did not move, but a quavery voice came forth from a black square where the mouth should have been. ”Your enemy is Ay. He landed today upon this coast.”

”Yes, yes. And the secret of his death?”

Even if the berserker were to order another to accomplish the replacement's death, a track of causation would be left on the Moderns' screens. ”You must bring your enemy Ay here, alive and unhurt, and give him to me. Then you will never see him more. And if you do this I will help you gain whatever else you may desire.”

Nomis's mind raced. He had trained himself for nearly a lifetime to seize such an opportunity as this and he was not going to fail now, not going to be tricked or cheated. So... the demon wanted Ay kept alive!

That could only mean that some vital magical connection existed between the sea rover and this thing from the deeps. That Ay should have enjoyed such help in his career was far from surprising, considering the number of men he had sent to dwell among the fishes and the charmed life he himself seemed to lead.