His voice cracked the spell, and she was able to turn her head and look up at him, but still she could not speak. He smiled almost imperceptibly at her, more a smile of the eyes than the lips, but his look was so rea.s.suring, so serenely certain, that her terror subsided and she found her voice.

"I'm not afraid," she said, and the lie was suddenly the truth, because of him.

He reached out as if unconsciously to press her hand briefly, and his own hand was warm enough to set the vital currents pulsing through her again.

His hand withdrew too soon. She tore her eyes from his face, and saw Girays v'Alisante expostulating with their pilot, the Traveler Meemo Echmeemi, owner-operator of The Traveler Echmeemi's Astonishing Flights, whose task it was to carry the three racers east out of Zuleekistan, over the Ramparts of Forever and down into the North Ygahro Territory, next designated stop along the Grand Ellipse. Girays was speaking emphatically, but she did not really note his words, and probably neither did the pilot, for the Traveler Echmeemi's Vonahrish was rudimentary at best. A blindingly white smile split the balloonist's bearded brown face. He shrugged, responded in blithely unintelligible Zuleeki dialect, and tossed a couple of sandbags out of the basket.

Instantly the teeth of Ohnyi Heznyi receded. The view altered, and the broad yellow-brown plain lying southeast of the mountains swung into sight.

She was not about to die quite yet. Her breathing eased by degrees. And only to think, she had imagined this aerial hop over the Lesser Crescent Range a splendid shortcut, likely to place her hours or days ahead of rival racers electing to sail east from Zuleekistan across the Bay of Zif. The discovery among her few surviving maps and timetables of a brief reference to the independent commercial balloonists of eastern Zuleekistan, an area swept in springtime by consistently northwesterly winds, had caught her interest and fired her hopes of finally taking the lead over all compet.i.tors other than the Festinettes. (And where in the world were the twins?) Of course she had meant to keep the scheme to herself, and would have managed it, had she not committed the error of questioning that Vonahrish-speaking native guide at the Navoyza Pa.s.s. The guide must have reported the conversation back to Girays, Karsler had presumably overheard, and after that all hope of aeronautical exclusivity died. The two of them, as taken with the idea as she, had insisted on accompanying her to Echmeemi's and she had been unable to elude them, despite considerable effort. She supposed she ought to be glad that Tchornoi, Jil Liskjil, Zavune, and the others had not caught wind of the plan as well, but grat.i.tude was hard to muster in the face of cosmic injustice. It was so unfair-the balloon idea had been hers.

Strange to find herself so glad of their company now, Luzelle reflected. She had not antic.i.p.ated her own fear of hitherto unimaginable heights. She simply had not expected the icy qualms, the cold sweats, the inner tremors. Had she traveled alone, she would have fled at first sight of the vast crimson-and-yellow inflated sack looming above the mountain shack that housed The Traveler Echmeemi's Astonishing Flights. Fortunately for her hope of future victory, shame had triumphed over terror, and in the presence of two male observers she had suppressed all outward manifestations of alarm, or at least she had tried. She had forced herself to climb into the rickety, pitifully flimsy excuse for a basket. She had endured the ghastly swift ascent, she had suppressed all shrieks, squeaks, and gasps, she had controlled her inclination to vomit, she had even contrived to engage in conversation of sorts. In short, she had carried on as a reasonable, competent adult.

Girays had been taken in. He might view her as short tempered and sharp tongued, but probably did not recognize the underlying incipient panic. Karsler Stornzof was another matter, however. Perhaps his observation of soldiers on the eve of battle had heightened his perceptions. Whatever the reason, she knew beyond question that he saw her weakness, but neither pitied nor despised it.

Yes, all things considered, she was very happy to have them with her. And she would leave them both behind at the very first opportunity.

The hours pa.s.sed, the mountains spun by, and her fears subsided. Her belly gradually unclenched itself, and around noon, when the Traveler Echmeemi opened up his sack of provisions, she was able to lunch on bread, goat cheese, and rough red wine without ill effect. Presently she even found herself awakening to the wonders of the scenery below. The Lesser Crescents deserved attention, for they were spectacular, with their gla.s.sy ice caps flashing in the sun, their chiseled crags, their knife-edged gorges and ravines filled with violet shadow. The air at these alt.i.tudes was clear as it was cold, and every detail of the landscape retained a sharpness that permitted the eye no rest. Luzelle found herself blinking, half dazzled by the sunlight glancing off the icy peaks, but reluctant to look away for fear of missing some marvel. Her persistence was rewarded when she glimpsed a soaring, pure white, broad-winged form that she recognized as a snow eagle.

She was almost tranquil by the time the Lesser Crescents had dwindled to rugged foothills spa.r.s.ely studded with villages and lush with high pastures roamed by curly-horned goats pied red and black.

The foothills gave way to the wide expanse known as the Phreta'ah that rolled in featureless yellow-brown waves between the Ramparts of Forever and the Forests of Oorex.

But the Phreta'ah was not truly featureless. An aerial view revealed the plenitude of streams and rivulets rushing down from the mountains and across the wide gra.s.slands, converging south of the Lesser Crescent Range to form the headwaters of the immense River Ygah that flowed thirty-five hundred miles south to the Nether Ocean. The river, fed by countless tributaries, widened as it went, curving its leisurely way through a vast depression shaped like a shallow salad bowl filled with greenery-the legendary Forests of Oorex, largely unexplored and untamed to this very day. She could just make out the great smudge of dark green in the far distance. With any luck the winds would bear them toward it.

For some hours the winds obliged. Endless yellow-brown billows rolled by below, their monotony relieved only by the glint of sun on silvery running water, the narrow dark ribbon of a dirt road, the occasional rounded protuberance of a thatch-roofed roadside prayer-hut. Once Luzelle spotted a cart drawn by oxen trudging toward the Ohnyi Heznyi, and the air was still so limpid that she could make out the details of the driver's costume-loose white tunic, green neckerchief, broad hat. His face was upturned to the sky, and as the balloon pa.s.sed over, he stood up in the cart, waving both arms with abandon. Luzelle returned the salute, but already the cart, oxen, and driver were behind her and receding.

The balloon sailed on, and the Forests of Oorex expanded greenly before it, while the undulations of the Phreta'ah below changed character at last, the long yellow-brown waves darkening with new and richer vegetation watered by the burgeoning River Ygah.

The river was an a.s.sertive presence now, its great serpent length winding on forever, its shadowy mane of forest dominating the landscape. At the edge of the jungle, at a wide and tranquil bend in the river, rose the town of Xoxo, capital of the North Ygahro Territory and next stop along the Grand Ellipse.

Luzelle could make out low buildings of brown brick with brown tile roofs, wooden leaf-thatched houses built on piles, and crooked unpaved streets. Not an impressive sight. Of greater interest were the sizable ships of modern design moored at the Xoxo wharfs. Grewzian, she realized. That infamous Grewzian advance upon Jumo had launched itself from the North Ygahro Territory.

Involuntarily she glanced over at Karsler. He was studying the scene and his profile told her nothing, but the strong light emphasized the contrast between the red mark on his forehead and the surrounding fair skin; that mark a souvenir, he had explained without visible concern, of an encounter with a group of citizens in Aeshno. The mental image of an enraged Aennorvi mob stoning this man to death in the streets made her shudder, and for a moment she felt the cold again as she hadn't in hours. Girays v'Alisante's intervention upon that occasion had at the very least spared him serious injury and quite probably saved his life, Karsler had also informed her; a detail that Girays himself had neglected to mention.

Her regard shifted to her countryman. The unforgiving sunlight picked out the threads of grey at his temples, and the faint lines etching the skin around his eyes. He looked dark and small beside the Grewzian overcommander, but who wouldn't?

Xoxo was drawing closer by the moment. The Traveler Echmeemi twitched the valve line, releasing heated atmosphere, and the ground appeared to rise. Now Luzelle could distinguish the wagons in the narrow dirt streets, the native pedestrians in their outsized hats, the wandering dogs, and the numerous grey figures recognizable as Grewzian soldiers.

Back in the Imperium, again. Her gorge rose. Her gorge rose.

Perhaps before long the Imperium would be everywhere.

The wind veered and the town of Xoxo wheeled westward. At once the Traveler Echmeemi plied the valve line, and the balloon descended swiftly, too swiftly. It seemed to be dropping freely out of the sky, and all of Luzelle's fears reawakened. Her stomach lurched. One hand flew to her mouth to contain a scream.

The Traveler Echmeemi was not dismayed. Nonchalantly he loosed one of the sandbags dangling from the rail of the basket, and the precipitous descent slowed. Another bag went and the balloon sank smoothly, struck the ground without violence, bounced and struck again, sc.r.a.ped along for several yards, then came to rest. The Traveler Echmeemi pulled wide the rip panel, and the great linen envelope began to deflate. The pa.s.sengers debarked.

They stood ankle deep in vigorous coa.r.s.e gra.s.s cropped by fat dekwoaties, the potbellied striped ruminant of the region. A skinny little Ygahri boy clad in a large hat and nothing else sat watching the animals. A few hundred yards behind him squatted a low farmhouse with awnings of woven gra.s.ses. As the balloon came down, the dekwoaties scattered, while the native boy leapt to his feet and fled shrieking for the house.

"He think he see evil spirit," the Traveler Echmeemi explained, and roared with laughter.

It was midafternoon, and the shadows were pointing the way east toward Xoxo. The town, some five or six miles distant, squatted mud-brown and drab before the intense green backdrop of the jungle. A haze of smoke and heat hovered above the rooftops. The air was very warm, Luzelle noticed for the first time; humid, heavy, and uncomfortable. Already her forehead was moist with sweat. At once she rid herself of the blanket, but remained too heavily wrapped in multiple Bizaqhi layers.

"Xoxo." The Traveler Echmeemi extended a triumphant finger, then proceeded to explain in his execrable Vonahrish that the respectable Ygahro businessman Grh'fixi, his brother-in-soul, a most excellent fellow with whom he shared a pleasant and mutually convenient little arrangement, would soon arrive in a splendid buffalo-drawn cart equipped to bear pa.s.sengers in reasonably priced luxury all the way to Xoxo. And if by chance the admirable Grh'fixi should fail to appear before sunset, then the nearby farmhouse would doubtless offer comfortable overnight shelter.

Luzelle studied the landscape and reported, "I see no cart. No buffaloes, either."

"It come, it come," the Traveler Echmeemi insisted.

"When?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Maybe half hour. Two, three hour, no more. Grh'fixi come before dark, for sure. Or tomorrow morning early, this is certain. You wait here."

"I do not wait here. I haven't the time."

"What, then?" The Traveler Echmeemi permitted himself an indulgent smile. "You walk whole way Xoxo?"

"That's right."

"No. Too dirty. Dekwoati c.r.a.p all over. And big hairy spiders. They eat you."

"I don't care about the dirt, and I'm not afraid of spiders."

"Scorpions too. Poison."

"I don't believe that."

The Traveler Echmeemi turned to the men and appealed, "You tell your woman she must wait for Grh'fixi."

"She won't obey," Girays explained, straight-faced. "The jade's ill trained."

"Then you should beat her."

"You are probably right, my friend."

Venting a disgusted snort, Luzelle s.n.a.t.c.hed up her carpetbag and marched off across the fields. Loud Zuleeki remonstration erupted in her wake, but she did not trouble to turn her head. On she went and soon heard the thud of quick footsteps behind her, but still did not deign to look back. A moment later they caught up with her.

"It is not a place for you to walk unaccompanied," observed Karsler.

"Nor would I wish to allow a rival Ellipsoid to leave me behind," Girays declared.

"You'd better prepare yourself; it's only a matter of time," she warned Girays tartly, then turned to offer Karsler a warm smile. She would never have confessed to either of them, particularly not to Girays, how relieved she was that they had not allowed her to face the terrors of spiders, scorpions, and dekwoati droppings all alone.

For the next two hours or more they hiked across fields heavily blanketed with coa.r.s.e, damp, yellow-green gra.s.ses that sometimes grew waist high. Most of the time Karsler led the way, the pa.s.sage of his tall form forcing a path for his followers through the vegetation. Luzelle perceived that she could not have managed on her own, at least not without sacrifice of the carpetbag. Even as it was, the burden dragged on her arm, its weight increasing with every hard-won quarter mile. The humid air pressed with a weight all its own, and the sweat was streaming down her face. Clouds of gnats hovered about her head, and slapping at them simply wasted energy.

From time to time they came upon wide, clear expanses where the grazing dekwoaties had cropped the gra.s.s down to the ground, and there the droppings were all that the Traveler Echmeemi had promised, and more. Ripe yellow mounds alive with flies cl.u.s.tered underfoot, and there was no avoiding them. Luzelle's feet sank deep with every step. A stench filled the air, and she gagged on it. Pinching her nostrils between two fingers, she breathed through her mouth and her nausea receded. Her shoes would have to be discarded, after this. The wide legs of her divided skirt were plastered with filth, but the gauzy fabric would wash well and dry quickly. She pictured herself attempting such a trek in conventional western garb-voluminous long skirts, petticoats, whalebone stays, and all the rest-and smiled at the ludicrous image.

She saw no scorpions, but several times spied saucer-sized plots of short, yellow-green gra.s.s that seemed indefinably anomalous, and once she thought that one of them moved. A trick of the light, she supposed, but closer inspection revealed the presence of a gigantic spider soft with yellow-green fur. Big hairy spiders, just as the Traveler Echmeemi had promised; but none of them tried to eat her.

At the end of a strenuous and sweaty span, they stumbled forth from the high gra.s.ses to find themselves at the side of the rutted dirt road that carried on into the town of Xoxo, now some three miles distant and imperfectly visible through the trees that grew along the river. Here they rested for a while upon a flat rock free of droppings, but slimy with green mold or moss of some sort. The vegetation flourished everywhere; eager weeds thrust up in the middle of the road, algae coated the puddles filling ruts worn by wagon wheels, and the wooden ruins of a public prayer-hut were smothered in white fungi. There was something distasteful in such immoderate vitality; something almost threatening.

They could not afford to linger there, were they to reach Xoxo before dark. It was late afternoon, and the sun was well past its zenith. The trek resumed and soon they were slogging along a roadway deep in mud and droppings. Luzelle's filthy wet skirts slapped at her ankles with every step. She was soaked in sweat, the gnats were everywhere, and the carpetbag was heavy as an anvil. Both Girays and Karsler had volunteered more than once to carry the bag for her, and it had taken all the willpower she possessed to decline such offers. Decline them she had, however; pride no less than a simple sense of justice demanded as much.

Perhaps she should have waited for Grh'fixi.

But no. She thought of the Festinette twins, somewhere up ahead along the Grand Ellipse. She thought of Jil Liskjil, Tchornoi, Zavune, Phineska, Hay-Frinl, and the others, so determined and resourceful, so close upon her heels. No, she couldn't possibly have waited.

The sun, now startlingly red, was stooping to the horizon by the time they reached Xoxo. An unappetizing place, Luzelle decided at once, with its dreary mud-colored buildings, its narrow streets that served as public sewers, its wandering packs of gaunt stray dogs, its rat-riddled refuse heaps, its stink of rancid oil and ordure, its unsmiling copper-faced citizens, and its large population of Grewzian soldiers. The spruce grey figures were much in evidence, knots of them loitering about the new watch-stations marked with the symbol of the Endless Fire, bands of them striding the streets with an air of ownership. Where the Grewzians walked, the native Ygahris gave way with a kind of whipped servility that was sickening to behold. Luzelle boiled inwardly, but dared no criticism.

Welcome to the Imperium, she thought.

Had she found herself alone, with the recollection of the attack in Glozh still fresh in her mind, she would have been afraid. But now she walked beside a Grewzian officer whose uniform and insignia, travel stained though they were, garnered instant respect that extended to his companions. Karsler Stornzof's compatriots saluted smartly as he pa.s.sed, and there were several courteous inclinations of the head in Luzelle's direction. Some of the grey soldiers, she fancied, recognized the celebrated overcommander by sight and wanted to say so, but Grewzian military discipline precluded such familiarity. Karsler himself only once availed himself of his officer's privilege of initiating conversation, and that was to ask the way to the city hall.

An impeccably blond undercommander furnished directions, and the three of them walked on along crooked malodorous lanes now sinking into humid twilight. As the light waned, the gnats retired and the mosquitoes emerged in force. A high-pitched humming filled the air, and the blood feast began. Luzelle slapped, batted, and flapped her free arm in vain. Her Bizaqhi garments covered her body and limbs, and one of the long sashes draped across the lower portion of her face furnished additional protection. But her hands were bare, and within minutes they were spotted with itchy red lumps. Uncomfortable and annoying, but nothing to worry about. There were certain modern scientific cranks who actually imagined the obnoxious little insects responsible for the transmission of deadly diseases, but Luzelle's common sense rejected such farfetched notions.

The dim avenue terminated at the verge of a paved plaza, large and imposing by local standards, edged with lanterns just now being lit for the evening. The buildings here were the largest Luzelle had seen so far in Xoxo, graceless constructions of the native drab brick perched above flood level upon ma.s.sive stone supports, and incongruously adorned with whitewashed wooden columns of cla.s.sical design.

They had reached Xoxo's western enclave, site of the administrative offices employed by successive contingents of the North Ygahro Territory's colonial overlords. Here rose the city hall, the archives, the governor's residence, the countinghouse, the offices, and an a.s.sortment of private dwellings occupied by western-born officials, lower-level bureaucrats, their families, pets, and servants. A variety of flags had flown above these buildings. At the moment the flags were Grewzian.

Luzelle scarcely noticed the architecture. Her attention fastened on a makeshift wooden platform set up in the middle of the square and she gasped, then whispered without thought, "Oh, what is that?"

A superfluous question, really; the spectacle was self-explanatory. The platform bore an apparatus reminiscent of an old-fashioned pillory, with strong upright posts supporting a wide horizontal board furnished with apertures that confined the necks and wrists of four prisoners. The victims were Ygahri natives, male, naked save for abbreviated loincloths. All four were small, thin, bowlegged, and black haired, their elaborately coiled braids threaded with beads and rings. Their faces and bodies were either painted or tattooed with intricate swirling designs in blue and green punctuated with symmetrical raised scars, but the ornamentation did not disguise the bruises, welts, and b.l.o.o.d.y cuts marking the coppery flesh. The partially dried blood attracted a host of voracious insects. Clouds of winged forms hovered about the immobilized bodies; multilegged legions crawled freely over and into the exposed wounds. The buzzing and humming were audible throughout the square. The stooped, cramped posture imposed by the pillory must have been almost as torturous in itself as the combined miseries of a recent beating, insects, and thirst. But no sign of perturbation touched the faces of the four prisoners, whose stoicism was well illumined by the lanterns placed about the platform. Clearly the spectacle of punishment was meant to edify the public.

This is something out of another century, thought Luzelle.

A patrol of Grewzian soldiers was pa.s.sing. Karsler halted the men with a word, jerked a nod at the platform, and demanded, "What is the meaning of this?"

The patrol's leader, a pug-nosed sergeant, answered, "Discipline of refractory natives, sir."

"Upon whose authority?"

"Standing orders of the Undergeneral Ermendtrof, sir."

"The Undergeneral Ermendtrof sanctions this particular form of punishment?"

"Yes, sir. As indicated, sir."

"And in this case?"

"Very much indicated, sir."

"Explain."

"Sir, those four natives there aren't townsmen. You can see by the scars and tattoos that they're jungle sc.u.m of the Nine Blessed Tribes. In fact, they're elders of the Aocreotalexi tribe. These forest savages are always troublesome. Disobedient. Underhanded. They're not civilized, sir, and they have no idea how to behave. They're more like apes than men, and a good whipping is the only kind of language they understand."

"What was their offense?" Karsler inquired expressionlessly.

"They were insolent, sir."

"Specify."

"They accosted the Undergeneral Ermendtrof himself in the street, blocked his way, and stood there yapping complaints. Something about the men of the Forty-seventh Squadron digging latrines into some old native burial ground near the edge of the forest. Wanted the latrines relocated, and the profaned site ritually purified. As if a good Grewzian contribution wouldn't enrich their ancestors' sorry bones! I say we were doing the apes a favor, but they don't know how to be grateful. When those four troublemakers there were ordered from the undergeneral's path, they wouldn't budge, and that kind of disobedience can't be tolerated. An example was made."

"When are they scheduled for release?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"Then see to it that they are given water at regular intervals until that time."

"Sir, the Undergeneral Ermendtrof's orders do not mention-"

"You comprehend my instructions, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Overcommander."

"Dismissed."

The sergeant saluted smartly, and the patrol withdrew. As soon as the soldiers were out of earshot, Luzelle turned on Karsler to demand, "Won't you do do something?" something?"

"I have done what I could." His somber gaze was fixed on the pilloried natives.

"But why didn't you order those men released?"

"I have not the authority to countermand the orders of the Undergeneral Ermendtrof."

"Hang the Undergeneral Ermendtrof! This is no way to treat human beings-it's barbaric, it's monstrous. You know that."

"I am a soldier, and my duty as such prohibits insubordination. My personal convictions do not signify."

"How can you say that? A soldier isn't an automaton. He has a mind and a conscience. Can yours allow you to condone this?" Her condemnatory gesture encompa.s.sed the platform. "You can do something about it, if you choose."

"What I might choose as an individual is irrelevant. As an officer of the Imperium I recognize the necessities and realities of war."

"The torture of four Ygahri tribesmen who committed the terrible crime of complaining about their graveyard's desecration-that is a necessity? Do you really believe-"

"Luzelle. Leave him alone." Girays finally entered the discussion.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "But-"

"You've overlooked or else you don't know the rigor of Grewzian military discipline. The sort of righteous mutiny that you recommend would probably get Stornzof shot."

"But I never-"

"Before you next presume to judge and demand, perhaps you might take a moment to consider possible consequences," Girays concluded.