"Oh, yes, I suppose so. Now come along. But not too close--you make me
feel a little sick."
They went up to the great gray castle which lifted its windy spires
over the city, and presently Flandry found himself granted an audience
with the King of Scothania.
It was a huge and dimlit hall, hung with the banners and shields of old
wars and chill despite the fires that blazed along its length. Penda
sat at one end, wrapped in furs against the cold, his big body dwarfed
by the dragon-carved throne. He had his eldest son's stern manner
and bleak eyes, without the prince's bitter intensity--a strong man,
thought Flandry, hard and ruthless and able--but perhaps not too bright.
Cerdic had mounted to a seat on his father's right. The queen stood on
his left, shivering a little in the damp draft, and down either wall
reached a row of guardsmen. The fire shimmered on their breastplates
and helmets and halberds; they seemed figures of legend, but Flandry
noticed that each warrior carried a blaster too.
There were others in evidence, several of the younger sons of Penda,
grizzled generals and councillors, nobles come for a visit. A few of
the latter were of non-Scothan race and did not seem to be meeting
exceptional politeness. Then there were the hangers-on, bards and
dancers and the rest, and slaves scurrying about. Except for its
size--and its menace--it was a typical barbarian court.
* * * * *
Flandry bowed the knee as required, but thereafter stood erect and
met the king's eye. His position was anomalous, officially Cerdic's
captured slave, actually--well, what was he? Or what could he become in
time?
Penda asked a few of the more obvious questions, then said slowly:
"You will confer with General Nartheof here, head of our intelligence
section, and tell him what you know. You may also make suggestions if
you like, but remember that false intentions will soon be discovered
and punished."
"I will be honest, your majesty."
"Is any Terrestrial honest?" snapped Cerdic.
"I am," said Flandry cheerfully. "As long as I'm paid, I serve
faithfully. Since I'm no longer in the Empire's pay, I must perforce
look about for a new master."
"I doubt you can be much use," said Penda.
"I think I can, your majesty," answered Flandry boldly. "Even in little
things. For instance, this admirably decorated hall is so cold one must
wear furs within it, and still the hands are numb. I could easily show
a few technicians how to install a radiant heating unit that would make
it like summer in here."
Penda lifted his bushy brows. Cerdic fairly snarled: "A Terrestrial
trick, that. Shall we become as soft and luxurious as the Imperials, we
who hunt vorgari on ski?"
Flandry's eyes, flitting around the room, caught dissatisfied
expressions on many faces. Inside, he grinned. The prince's austere
ideals weren't very popular with these noble savages. If they only had
the nerve to--
It was the queen who spoke. Her soft voice was timid: "Sire, is there
any harm in being warm? I--I am always cold these days."
Flandry gave her an appreciative look. He'd already picked up the
background of Queen Gunli. She was young, Penda's third wife, and she
came from more southerly Scothan lands than Iuthagaar; her folk were
somewhat more civilized than the dominant Frithians. She was certainly
a knockout, with that dark rippling hair and those huge violet eyes in
her pert face. And that figure too--there was a suppressed liveliness
in her; he wondered if she had ever cursed the fate that gave her noble
blood and thus a political marriage.
For just an instant their eyes crossed.
"Be still," said Cerdic.
Gunli's hand fell lightly on Penda's. The king flushed. "Speak not to
your queen thus, Cerdic," he said. "In truth this Imperial trick is
but a better form of fire, which no one calls unmanly. We will let the
Terrestrial make one."
Flandry bowed his most ironical bow. Cocking an eye up at the queen, he
caught a twinkle. She knew.
* * * * *
Nartheof made a great show of blustering honesty, but there was a
shrewd brain behind the hard little eyes that glittered in his hairy
face. He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head and gave
Flandry a quizzical stare.
"If it is as you say--" he began.
"It is," said the Terrestrial.
"Quite probably. Your statements so far check with what we already
know, and we can soon verify much of the rest. If, then, you speak
truth, the Imperial organization is fantastically good." He smiled.
"As it should be--it conquered the stars, in the old days. But it's no
better than the beings who man it, and everyone knows how venial and
cowardly the Imperials are today."
Flandry said nothing, but he remembered the gallantry of the Sirian
units at Garrapoli and the _dogged courage_ of the Valatian Legion
and--well, why go on? The haughty Scothani just didn't seem able to
realize that a state as absolutely decadent as they imagined the Empire
to be wouldn't have endured long enough to be their own enemy.
"We'll have to reorganize everything," said Nartheof. "I don't care
whether what you say is true or not, it makes good sense. Our whole
setup is outmoded. It's ridiculous, for instance, to give commands
according to nobility and blind courage instead of proven intelligence."
"And you assume that the best enlisted man will make the best officer,"
said Flandry. "It doesn't necessarily follow. A strong and hardy
warrior may expect more of his men than they can give. You can't all be
supermen."
"Another good point. And we should eliminate swordplay as a
requirement; swords are useless today. And we have to train
mathematicians to compute trajectories and everything else." Nartheof
grimaced. "I hate to think what would have happened if we'd invaded
three years ago, as many hotheads wanted to do. We would have inflicted
great damage, but that's all."
"You should wait at least another ten or twenty years and really get
prepared."
"Can't. The great nobles wouldn't stand for it. Who wants to be duke
of a planet when he could be viceroy of a sector? But we have a year
or two yet." Nartheof scowled. "I can get my own service whipped into
shape, with your help and advice. I have most of the bright lads. But
as for some of the other forces--gods, the dunderheads they have in
command! I've argued myself hoarse with Nornagast, to no use. The fool
just isn't able to see that a space fleet the size of ours must have
a special coordinating division equipped with semantic calculators
and--The worst of it is, he's a cousin to the king, he ranks me. Not
much I can do."
"An accident could happen to Nornagast," murmured Flandry.
"Eh?" Nartheof gasped. "What do you mean?"
* * * * *
"Nothing," said Flandry lightly. "But just for argument's sake,
suppose--well, suppose some good swordsman should pick a quarrel
with Nornagast. I don't doubt he has many enemies. If he should
unfortunately be killed in the duel, you might be able to get to his
majesty immediately after, before anyone else, and persuade him to
appoint a more reasonable successor. Of course, you'd have to know in
advance that there'd be a duel."
"Of all the treacherous, underhanded--!"
"I haven't done anything but speculate," said Flandry mildly. "However,
I might remind you of your own remarks. It's hardly fair that a fool
should have command and honor and riches instead of better men who
simply happen to be of lower degree. Nor, as you yourself said, is it
good for Scothania as a whole."
"I won't hear of any such Terrestrial vileness."
"Of course not. I was just--well, speculating. I can't help it. All
Terrestrials have dirty minds. But we did conquer the stars once."
"A man might go far, if only--no!" Nartheof shook himself. "A warrior
doesn't bury his hands in muck."
"No. But he might use a pitchfork. Tools don't mind dirt. The man who
wields them doesn't even have to know the details--But let's get back
to business." Flandry relaxed even more lazily. "Here's a nice little
bit of information which only highly placed Imperials know. The Empire
has a lot of arsenals and munitions dumps which are guarded by nothing
but secrecy. The Emperor doesn't dare trust certain units to guard such
sources of power, and he can't spare enough reliable legions to watch
them all. So obscure, uninhabited planets are used." Nartheof's eyes
were utterly intent now. "I know of only one, but it's a good prospect.
An uninhabited, barren system not many parsecs inside the border, the
second planet honeycombed with underground works that are crammed with
spaceships, atomic bombs, fuel--power enough to wreck a world. A small,
swift fleet could get there, take most of the stores, and destroy the
rest before the nearest garrison could ever arrive in defense."
"Is that--_true_?"
"You can easily find out. If I'm lying, it'll cost you that small unit,
that's all--and I assure you I've no desire to be tortured to death."
"Holy gods!" Nartheof quivered. "I've got to tell Cerdic now, right
away--"
"You could. Or you might simply go there yourself without telling
anyone. If Cerdic knows, he'll be the one to lead the raid. If you
went, you'd get the honor--and the power--"
"Cerdic would--not like it."
"Too late then. He could hardly challenge you for so bold and
successful a stroke."
"And he is getting too proud of himself--he could stand a little taking
down." Nartheof chuckled, a deep vibration in his shaggy breast. "Aye,
by Valtam's beard, I'll do it! Give me the figures now--"
Presently the general looked up from the papers and gave Flandry a
puzzled stare. "If this is the case, and I believe it is," he said
slowly, "it'll be a first-rate catastrophe for the Empire. Why are you
with us, human?"
"Maybe I've decided I like your cause a little better," shrugged
Flandry. "Maybe I simply want to make the best of my own situation. We
Terrestrials are adaptable beasts. But I have enemies here, Nartheof,
and I expect to make a few more. I'll need a powerful friend."
"You have one," promised the barbarian. "You're much too useful to me
to be killed. And--and--damn it, human, somehow I can't help liking
you."