FRENNELECH, THE HIGH PRIEST OF KROAXIA, SAT ALONE IN HIS PRIVATE chambers in the Palace of the High Holy One at Pergassos, brooding over the latest reports from his spies. He smelt a conspiracy in the air, and the evidence pointed to Eskenderom, the King, as being very much mixed up in it.
Eskenderom’s ambition had long been to sweep the other nations of the Sacred Alliance aside and establish Kroaxia at the head of a mighty empire that would stretch to the Peripheral Barrier, with himself as its leader. His preparatory plans had involved political intrigues and subterfuges aimed at undermining the kings and rulers of neighboring states and weakening their holds over their realms; but in the case of Serethgin, the very destabilization that Eskenderom had brought about had given Kleippur opportunity to seize control over the province of Carthogia, and the resulting state of affairs had proved a hindrance to the further development of Eskenderom’s scheme ever since.
Kroaxia’s acquisition of weapons from the Lumians, however, suddenly put everything in a new light. If the reports of decisive Waskorian successes against Kleippur’s forces were accurate—as the invasion of Carthogia was intended in part to test—the invasion would be completed swiftly and devastatingly, and Kleippur would cease to be a problem. Then Eskenderom would have to make his move against the other Alliance nations just as quickly and with total surprise, while his advantage was overwhelming—before the Lumians could restore a balance by arming Eskenderom’s rivals in like fashion, as was doubtless their longer-term intent. For a long time, however, Eskenderom had been growing increasingly impatient over the traditional division of the powers of state between its secular and ecclesiastical authorities; if the King were now to find himself commanding powers potent enough to build an empire that would stretch to the ends of the world, Frennelech was under no illusion that his better nature would lead him to share such powers graciously with the clergy to serve the founding of a universal Church as well.
As Eskenderom would already have concluded, the prospect of such a dramatic decline of clerical power would put Frennelech squarely among his potential opposition—the kind of opposition, moreover, that Eskenderom would doubtless prefer to do without while he was dealing with the Alliance nations. The most probable explanation for Eskenderom’s taking such a secretive interest in a laughable pipsqueak like Groork, therefore, and dispatching the loyal captain Horazzorgio to retrieve Groork from Xerxeon, was that Eskenderom intended replacing Frennelech with a tame puppet appointed by the Crown as its obedient caretaker of all matters spiritual. As far as Frennelech’s sources had been able to ascertain, Horazzorgio still hadn’t returned although he was long overdue by even the most conservative estimates. That was worrisome because it suggested that perhaps even more might be going on than Frennelech knew about.
Frennelech knew that Eskenderom frequently visited Gornod, the desolate spot in the mountains east of Pergassos where the Lumian flying vehicles landed, to meet treacherously with the Lumians behind Frennelech’s back, even when Eskenderom’s servants assured him that the King was somewhere else. He also knew from his own private rendezvouses with the Lumians in the dense forests to the west of Pergassos that Eskenderom was trying to enlist the aid of Lumian magic to present Groork to the Kroaxian population as a genuine miracle-worker and revealer of Divine Will—because the Lumians had admitted it. True, the Lumians had steadfastly denied that they had agreed to any such request, but how could Frennelech rely on the words of those who had already betrayed Kleippur’s trust? Their only interest seemed to be their obsessive desire to tame the forests, and they would reward with wealth, power, and protection any robeing in a position of authority or influence who was prepared to cooperate with them in achieving that end. Eskenderom commanded the Kroaxian army, but Frennelech controlled the minds of the Kroaxian people. Which process would deliver a greater quantity of willing robeing labor to the Lumians—force or persuasion? Both Eskenderom and Frennelech were pressing their cases to the Lumians, and no doubt both were hearing reassuring responses. But ultimately, which would the Lumians elect to go with?
He gathered the sheets of foil together and locked them in a concealed compartment in his desk, then stood up and walked through into the outer chamber where his secretary, Archdeacon Jaskillion, was copying columns of numbers into an enormous, plate-bound ledger. “Over eight twelves of dozens of six-crowns received in penitents’ dues and eternity prepayments last bright, and less than two dozen twelve-brights’ remission of Reduction Furnace time paid out,” Jaskillion said, sitting back and looking up. “Gross margin up a twelfth and a half. The Lifemaker should be well pleased.”
“Then let the Lifemaker’s business be kept private to the Lifemaker, lest Eskenderom should commence levying a tax on it,” Frennelech advised.
Jaskillion looked shocked. “But to tax the sacred revenues would be tantamount to disputing the Lifemaker’s judgment of His needs and interfering in the prosecution of His works,” he protested. “What sacrilege would the King be committing thus!”
“Then it is our holy duty to avoid exposing him to the temptation,” Frennelech said.
The archdeacon studied Frennelech’s face for a few seconds. “But thou didst not come to banter such matters, I see. What troubles thee?”
“The Lumians,” Frennelech said. “I cannot trust their assurances, but neither am I able to order their casings seared with flame and acid for the truthfulness of their words to be assessed by Inquisitors. And yet we dare not allow this business to be decided by the whims of these unworldly aliens whose motives and whose notions of truth are as unknown to us as the sky’s far side of which they speak.”
Jaskillion’s mood became more serious. “The question has been occupying my thoughts too,” he agreed.
“And what answers have thy thoughts supplied?”
Jaskillion paused for a moment to collect his words. “When a king becomes too strong, it is usually time for the Lifemaker’s divine, immutable plan to be revised,” he said at last. “It would be an error to permit Carthogia to be sacrificed just yet.”
“A force aligned against Eskenderom at this time is not one to be squandered—I agree. But our invasion has been dispatched, and Kleippur’s army is about to be scattered and smashed. What shall save Carthogia then?”
“The Waskorians lie interposed between our army and Kleippur, and they too are equipped with Lumian arms,” Jaskillion pointed out. “Were they, upon our secret instruction, to ally themselves with Carthogia, the resulting combined strength would perhaps be sufficient to hold out while Serethgin mobilizes against Kroaxia.”
“What relief could Serethgin’s horde bring against Lumian devilment, which confounds even Kleippur’s trained regiments?” Frennelech asked scoffingly.
“Much, if the Serethginians too were issued Lumian arms,” Jaskillion replied.
“Is this some foolish jest? We cannot confide in Serethgin’s leaders and admit them into our dialogue with the Lumians.”
“Of course not.”
“But who else would supply them with Lumian arms?”
“We would...discreetly. And after Eskenderom’s defeat and removal, would not Serethgin’s gratitude lead it to support a claim by thee in turn to assume the Supreme Archprelacy within the new unified state that Kroaxia and Serethgin would become?”
“Mmm...” Frennelech looked suddenly more interested. “And Carthogia also, after Serethgin regains the territory that rightfully belongs to it,” he mused.
“Exactly...And if we could arrange by some means for all direct dealings with the Lumians to be conducted through ourselves exclusively, the king of Serethgin would have far more inducement than Eskenderom to agree to a reasonable compromise on the sharing of power in any empire that might ensue.”
Frennelech smiled faintly. “Certainly our claim to being intermediaries between a higher form of mind and the world of mortal robeings would be indisputable,” he murmured.
“Indeed so.”
Frennelech became more businesslike once again. “But could Serethgin be equipped and mobilized in time?”
“How long did Kroaxia need to be equipped and mobilized?”
“What reason could the king of Serethgin offer to his people for taking arms against Kroaxia?” Frennelech asked.
“To defend their Waskorian brothers, whose faith Eskenderom is sending his armies illegally into Carthogia to persecute,” Jaskillion suggested.
“Hmmm—an appeal that would be rendered all the more persuasive after the Waskorians had gone over to Kleippur’s side.”
“Precisely so. And Kleippur’s insistence on freedom of worship for all is well known.”
“Would Kleippur accept Waskorian aid?”
“He has been deserted by the Lumians; his soldiers have been defeated by rabble for lack of the weapons that the Waskorians possess; and now the survival of his entire nation is threatened. He will accept.”
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside, and muffled voices sounded of a sentry at the door challenging and someone blurting a reply. A sharp rap sounded on the door. “Who knocks?” Frennelech called out.
“Kelessbayne, O Illustrious One, sent by Chroschanor to convey urgent tidings of events in the city.”
“Allow him entry,” Frennelech called to the guards. Kelessbayne entered and closed the door behind him. He looked flustered. “Well?” Frennelech demanded.
“Groork, the hearer, has appeared again,” Kelessbayne gabbled. “He calls himself Enlightener, and has entered the city riding on a steam-donkey, preaching words of faith that he says are the Lifemaker’s. A multitude that grows larger by the moment, bringing its sick, its blind, and its lame, is following him toward the Central Square, where he says great revelations will be made known and wondrous miracles come to pass.”
Jaskillion was on his feet, his face tense with alarm. “What else has happened?” he snapped. “Have there been signs of dragons in the sky?” Kelessbayne was not among the few who knew the true nature of the Lumian vessels.
“Not in Pergassos. But Groork speaks of awesome happenings in the Meracasine—of the whole Kroaxian army renouncing the ways of war, abandoning its weapons in the desert, and returning hither to spread a new, nonviolent faith of universal brotherhood.”
Frennelech groaned inwardly. It could only mean that the Lumians had chosen to back Eskenderom and were carrying out his plan to pass Groork off as a miracle-worker. “Is the army at the city also?” he asked weakly.
Kelessbayne shook his head. “It is still an eighth-bright’s march from the gates, if Groork speaks truly.”
“Was Groork present at these events that took place in the Meracasine?”
“Such is his assertion.”
“Then how came he to the city so far ahead of any soldiers?”
“He claims that to prepare the way he was borne ahead by shining angels who ride in creatures that fly beyond the sky.”
That was as conclusive as anything could be—the Lumians had brought Groork to Pergassos. There could no longer be any doubt but that they were in league with Eskenderom. “Is the King still away?” he asked Jaskillion.
“He is,” Jaskillion replied. Eskenderom was at Gornod, talking to the Lumians again; Jaskillion wouldn’t mention the place in Kelessbayne’s presence.
Frennelech thought desperately. With Groork’s arrival at Pergassos an eighth of a bright ahead of the army, and Eskenderom still away, was it possible that the Lumians could have miscalculated somewhere in their timing? If so, perhaps Frennelech could do something yet to make their victory a little more costly. From what he had seen of the Lumians’ powers he could probably do nothing to change the final outcome if they had made up their minds...but, if he was going down anyway, he would go down fighting.
“Collect as many of the Palace Guard as you can scrape together and send them immediately to the Central Square,” he instructed Jaskillion. “Also, have my carriage brought to the side entrance and inform the guard commander that he will be under direct orders from me.” He went back into his inner chamber to don his outdoor cloak.
“What is thy design?” Jaskillion called after him.
“I have a suspicion that Groork’s behind-the-scenes miracle-makers might not be as prepared at this moment as they ought to be,” Frennelech’s voice replied. “If that should indeed turn out to be the case, I fear for him that this performance may well prove to be his last.”
The crowd filled the Central Square of Pergassos and had started to overflow into the surrounding streets as word spread around the city and onlookers continued to arrive. Trading in the market had virtually ceased as stallholders covered their wares and closed down, either to protect their stock or to give undivided attention to what was happening. At the focus of it all, the Enlightener, who had mounted the steps of the platform and speaker’s rostrum built in the center of the square, was holding a tablet of ice above his head and sounding forth in a voice that rang with fervor and conviction. “I have climbed the mountain and seen the angels. I have flown in the skies and seen persecutors turned into baptizers. I have seen armies crumble at His command, for now it has been written, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”
“Hear the Word that the Enlightener bringeth,” one of the followers cried.
“Hail to the Enlightener!”
“We shall not kill!”
“Let he who disobeys be cast into the slave pits,” another shouted.
“No!” the Enlightener’s voice boomed around the square. “I say to thee that henceforth no robeing shall be a slave, one to another, for the Lifemaker’s commandment is written, Thou art thy neighbor’s equal.’ Thou shalt not bow thy head nor bend thy knee before any that would proclaim thy inferiority to his worth, or demand the fruits of thy labors as thy duty to his station.”
“How, then, shall we accept the Carthogians, Master?” another asked.
“Accept them as the soldiers of Kroaxia, once their sworn enemies unto death, have already accepted them—as comrades and brothers. No more shall robeing murder robeing, but all shall work together to gain wisdom and understanding until they are worthy to lift themselves into the skies and soar with the angels that appeared over the Meracasine.”
“What sayest thou, Master—that we too shall fly?”
“Yes! Yes! All who have faith and believe in His Word shall fly with the shining angels, just as I have flown with them. This I promise you.” The Enlightener could feel the mood of the crowd, its desire to believe, willing that it should be so. His eyes blazed, his skin shone in the light of the mid-bright sky, and the expression burning from his face radiated the ecstasy that he felt as the Lifemaker’s force surged through every chip and channel of his being. He extended his arms to stand with his cloak spread wide above the crowd, and the crowd roared as the waves of rapture flowed outward from the center to break against the surrounding walls like methane breakers in a storm, crashing against ice cliffs at the ocean’s edge.
“All are equal. We shall not be slaves!”
“We will work with our neighbors! We shall not kill!”
“When will we see the angels?”
The crowd’s emotions were at a peak. The Enlightener sensed his optimum moment approaching. “I shall summon angels, and then every robeing will know I speak truly,” he told them.
That was more than any mystic had ever offered before. “Show us the angels!” they shouted back. “Summon the angels!”
“I shall command miracles that you may know I speak truly?”
“Show us miracles! Then we will know!”
“THEN BEHOLD YE HIS POWER!” the Enlightener thundered, and with a flourish drew the praying-box from his pouch and held it high over his head. The whole square erupted in shouts of wonder, and then quietened expectantly. The Enlightener pressed the sacred button, and stabbing his finger upward, threw back his head. “IN THE NAME OF THE LIFEMAKER, I COMMAND THE SKIES—OPEN AND DELIVER THY WONDERS!”
Every face in the square tilted upward to peer at the heavens. Some of those present were screaming. Some had collapsed into unconsciousness. The Enlightener stood poised, waiting, still pointing at the sky. The crowd could see the irresistible compulsion burning in his eyes, and feel the cosmic force streaming from his outstretched finger. The moment was crushing, terrifying, overpowering. They were inextricably a part of it now, and being swept along helplessly in a flood tide of rising, swirling, passion and emotion. They watched, and waited. They howled. They shouted.
And then, very suddenly, a silence descended and spread to cover the square from one side to the other as completely as had the excitement only moments before. All at once, seemingly, everyone had noticed that nothing was happening. All the heads tilted back down and looked at each other quizzically. The Enlightener’s image evaporated, and all that was left where he had stood was a foolish-looking mystic holding a peculiar vegetable in the air. He lowered the vegetable and jabbed at it frantically, still looking upward with a pleading expression on his face. He shook his head in disbelief and tried again.
“Well?” a voice asked from somewhere.
“He’s just a fake,” someone else murmured, sounding disgusted.
“He was lying. Nothing but a fraud.”
“He speaks for no Lifemaker.”
“Blasphemer!” another voice shouted, sounding angrier now.
“Where art thy angels, O Enlightener?” someone called out mockingly.
“They are walking here like us, for are not all beings equal?” a voice answered, and another laughed. More laughter began to rise up from all sides. A blob of thick, black grease flew out of the crowd and squelched on the Enlightener’s cloak. A piece of partly decomposed fuel cell followed, then a lump of organic goo from one of the stalls, and within seconds the Enlightener was being pelted down from the platform while the air filled with hoots, boos, and shouts of derision.
“Here—give this to thy angels!”
“Did Kleippur send thee to make mockery of Kroaxia’s soldiers?”
“Carthogian agent! Spy!”
“Why do thy angels not rescue thee?”
“He has seen no angels!”
“I’ll believe it when I see our soldiers at the city gates.”
“Yes—and proclaiming that the Carthogians are their brothers!”
“Blasphemer! Profaner! Execute him!”
The sound of heavy footsteps crashing in unison came from the rear, and the crowd parted to make way for a detachment of the Palace Guard, led by a major wearing the red sash of Frennelech’s handpicked household elite. The outer files fanned out to form a cordon in front of the crowd, and the remainder followed the major through to where the Enlightener was standing, stained and disheveled with a stunned expression on his face. “You are under arrest on charges of blasphemy, heresy, incitement to riot, sedition, and high treason,” the major announced. He turned his head to address the captain at the head of the squad behind. “Seize him!”
Angry murmurs broke out and rose to a roar as the Enlightener was hustled away, too bewildered to hear any of the words. At the end of the street that led into the square from the direction of the Holy Palace, he found himself looking suddenly into the face of Frennelech, who had been watching from the window of his carriage. The High Priest shook his head reproachfully. “Tch! Tch! You really should have given yourself more time to get the hang of it,” he said. “And now we’ll have to drop you into an acid vat to prove to everyone that my Lifemaker is more powerful than your Lifemaker. In some ways it’s such a shame because I do believe you really were sincere. It just goes to show, my friend—you can’t trust every angel that you meet.” He nodded to the guard commander, and the Enlightener was led away.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jaskillion said from the seat next to Frennelech.
The High Priest turned his head away from the window curiously. “Oh, really? What?”
“Perhaps we’re being unduly pessimistic about this whole matter of the Lumians’ disposition. That mystic has clearly been deceived and betrayed. Could not the Lumians’ act of delivering Eskenderom’s intended replacement for thee into our hands in this fashion be meant as a signal to convey their decision? Our previous conclusion could well have been mistaken.”
“What an attractive notion,” Frennelech agreed. “We will investigate it further...But first, let us avail ourselves of the opportunity that Eskenderom’s absence presents to ensure a permanent end to all further problems from this scheme of his. Summon Rekashoba, the Prosecutor, as soon as we get back to the palace, and let us get rid of this ‘Enlightener’ now, once and for all, while we still have the chance to do so without interference.”
In the lander parked in the steep-sided valley to the north of Padua city, the indicator lamp on the Communications Officer’s console had stopped signaling. First it had blinked once; then, after a pause of several seconds, it had flashed on and off in a frantic burst which had seemed to shriek the desperation of the robot pressing the transmit button just over two hundred miles away. After that there had been another pause, then two or three shorter sequences of flashes. Since then, nothing.
Hank Frazer reached out a hand and flipped a switch to turn off the panel. “I guess that’s about it,” he said in a dull voice.
Nobody else said a word. After a long stillness, Zambendorf got up from his seat and walked slowly into the main cabin.