[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

draws back again, wiping his sweat-
streaming face. The control center air is cool, scented with lemon-orange.
Forde wipes his forehead again as the Viceroy's fingers run over the power
displays.
The Marshal steps toward the board, theoretically his to command physically
under the direction of the Viceroy.
Forde's long arm comes up with a snap to stop the military officer's second
step. The Marshal opens his mourn, looks at
Forde, men at the stiff back of the woman controlling the center, and shuts
his mouth without uttering a word.
"Very sensible, Forde. Very sensible. You gentlemen may sit on the wing
consoles, or leave, as you please."
Forde eases into the left wing observer's chair, the Marshal into the right.
The screen is centered on the airspace above the temple of the Fallen One, ten
kilos east of the palace.
"Nothing yet to see," comments the Viceroy. "According to the energy board,
some minor but nonsystemic sources are building."
"Gotterdammerung," mutters the Marshal, dredging the reference from he knows
not where.
"Not exactly. More like ..." The Viceroy halts. She wants to say Armageddon,
but that is not it either. She sniffs. The faintly musky odor is not Forde.
Rather Lady Kryn. She is afraid, and she withholds the shiver the thought
could bring.
Why?
The questions leap into her head again. One she lets stay.
After all, Mattel had worn black. Why does she fear men in black? Why poor
Martin Martel?
Except is he still poor Martin Mattel, penniless Regent's
Scholar? Or does that Martin even exist? Or was he dust a millennium ago? Who
is the real Martel? Does she really want to know?
A locator arrow flicks to the bottom of the screen before her, identifying a
new and building energy concentration. Her eyes dart toward the red arrow, and
the black dot it identifies.
"Magnification," she says quietly, heart pounding nonethe-
less.
She centers the screen on the dot she recognizes as Martel even before the
picture is fully focused.
"The same one," whispers Forde to the Marshal.
The Marshal frowns, then raises his line-dun black eye-
brows in a question, as if to ask which one.
Another locator arrow flares, and the Viceroy splits the main screen into two
views. The right-hand view holds Mar-
tel in dead center, standing inside the laser screens of the temple of the
Fallen One on the steps. The left-hand vision refocuses on an object sweeping
out of the dawn sun.
"Goats," mumbles Forde.
"A god of Aurore, apparently," observes the Viceroy, her voice but a fraction
tighter than normal, the tension unnoticed by either subordinate.
. Both Forde and the Marshal stare, wide-eyed, at the appa-
rition that fills the left screen.
Two goats, each the size of a bison, red-eyed and yoked to a four-wheeled
bronze cart, paw their way through the cloud-
less morning skies. A red-haired, red-bearded man, armored and complete with
pointed and homed helmet, leans forward in the cart and brandishes a graystone
hammer in his right hand. In his left are the red leather reins.
The Regent's hands suddenly begin to play across the power controls.
Page 264
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
CLANG! CLANG! RED ALERT! RED ALERT! FULL DEFENSE
SCREENS! FULL DEFENSE SCREENS!
Another call goes to the Fifth and Seventh Fleets, not that they could
accomplish anything in the space above the Vice-
regal city itself, but Kryn knows they will be of help after the clash between
the two gods. And their records may be of great assistance in documenting the
power of the gods of Au-
rore.
The lights in the control center flicker.
"All power sources outside the palace screens have been diverted," reports the
power center.
"Diverted? Where?" As she speaks she realizes the stupid-
ity of the question. Martel would be grabbing power from wherever he can find
it, and that may not be enough if Thor, assuming he is a god from Aurore, can
draw on the entire
field from that distance.
Half the controls before her are dead. Nothing outside the palace shields is
operative.
She watches, merges the two screen visions into one as the goat cart swings
down out of the rising sun toward a black marble temple and a man in black.
Watches, fists clenched at her sides, not knowing what outcome she wants, not
knowing if either outcome is what she wants.
Llll
The Hammer of Darkness
Though the wind joy-sings, it's a long way from here.
Though the boughs whisper, they whisper of fear.
Though the leaves linger, they lean to the wind, And the wind, it is colder
for those who have sinned.
The wind it is colder; the wind it is cold;
The wind it is colder for those who have sinned.
The ravens are winging; their wings are so black.
The lightnings are singing; the sun is turned back.
The storm clouds are drawing; the sun grows so dim;
And the dark god is coming; I know it is Him!
The dark god is coming; the dark god is coming;
The dark god is coming; I know it is Him!
Up on the hillside, where the grasses are gold, The blossoms will fold to the
touch of the cold.
The grasses love sunshine; the trees love the shade;
But neither will stand to the cold He has made.
But neither will stand to; neither will stand;
But neither will stand to the cold He has made.
The sunshine we've prayed for, but here comes the night.
The darkness is gathering to blot out the light.
The hammer of darkness will fall from the sky;
The old gods must fly, and the summer will die.
The old gods must fly; the old gods must fly;
The old gods must fly, and the summer will die.
Though the wind joy-sings, it's a long way from here.
Though the boughs whisper, they whisper of fear.
Though the leaves linger, they lean to the wind.
And the wind, it is colder for those who have sinned.
The wind it is colder; the wind it is cold;
The wind it is colder for those who have sinned.
 Hymn, Church of the Fallen One
Composer unknown
LIV
Mattel waits. Stands on the temple steps. On the steps of the temple where he
Page 265
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
slept through the night, slept knowing the hammer-thrower has been dispatched
after him, carrying the mandate of the gods, particularly of Apollo and Emily.
He does not question how he knows what transpired above
Jsalm. Knowing is enough. The time to question will be later, if there is a
later. As he feels the instrument of vengeance
draw near, he prepares to accept the blows of the hammer-
thrower.
One does not fight the blows of a single old god, not when the field of Aurore
is massed behind that tottering old god.
One fights all the gods.
The goat chariot clatters out of the sun, a black point in the white-gold
circle of light, wheels spinning backward, and hums battle chants from a
warriors' tongue forgotten longer than the languages of the obscure poets
Mattel has made a practice of quoting.
Thrummm! Thrummm, da-dum, da-dumm.
Mattel hears the rhythm. Smiles. Husbands the energy he had drawn from his
confrontation with the Lady Kryn, readies his shunts from the Viceroy's power
system, and holds his darkness for the assault.
Thrumml Thrumm, da-dumm, da-dummm.
The sound is nearer, and it rattles the looser shutters of the battered gray
villas that border the black temple.
Thrummm! Thrummm, da-dum, da-dummm.
The sun darkens, though no clouds mar the blue-green of the morning sky. The
Viceroy has activated the city's defense screens.
"Hsssst! Hssst!"
The breathing of the battle goats falls like rain across the pavements of the
city of the Viceroy, each fragment carrying a sparkle of light that breaks as
it strikes the ground or hard surface.
The sun flickers again as the goat chariot and its master hurdle through the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Pokrewne