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the Judgment.
They paused to salute the travelers, who rode on horseback from the airfield site, then immediately
resumed their toil. An occasional pair of mounted soldiers, going by, drew sabers in a deferential but less
servile gesture. They were uniformed in blue, wore steel helmets and breastplates, bore dagger at belt,
bow and quiver and ax at croup, lance in rest with red pennon aflutter from the shaft, besides those
swords.
 You seem to keep tight control, Havig said uneasily.
 What else? Krasicki snapped.  Most of the world, includ-ing most of this continent, is still in a state of
barbarism or savagery, where man survives at all. We can t manufacture what we can t get the materials
and machinery for. The Mong are on the plains west and south of us. They would come in like a
tor-nado, did we let down our defenses. Our troopers aren t over-seeing the workers, they re guarding
them against bandits. No, those people can thank the Eyrie for everything they do have.
The medieval-like pattern was repeated in town. Families did not occupy separate homes, they lived
together near the strong-hold and worked the land collectively. But while it looked rea-sonably clean,
which was a welcome difference from the Middle Ages, the place had none of the medieval charm. Brick
rows flanking asphalted streets were as monotonous as anything in the Victorian Midlands. Havig
supposed that was because the need for quick though stout construction had taken priority over
individual choice, and the economic surplus remained too small to allow replacing these barracks with
real houses. If not--But he ought to give the Sachem the benefit of the doubt, till he knew more ... He
saw one picturesque feature, a wooden building in a style which seemed half Asian, gaudily painted.
Krasicki told him it was a temple, where prayers were said to Yasu and sacrifices made to that Oktai
whom the Mong had brought.
 Give them their religion, make the priests cooperate, and you have them, he added.
Havig grimaced.  Where s the gallows?
Krasicki gave him a startled glance.  We don t hold public hangings. What do you think we are? After
a moment:  What milksop measures do you imagine can pull anybody through years like these?
The fortress loomed ahead. High, turreted brick walls en-closed several acres; a moat surrounded them
in turn, fed by the river which watered this area. The architecture had the same stem functionality as that
of the town. Flanking the gates, and up among the battlements, were heavy machine guns, doubtless
salvaged from wreckage or brought piece by piece out of the past. Stuttering noises told Havig that a
number of motor-driven generators were busy inside.
Sentries presented arms. A trumpet blew. Drawbridge planks clattered, courtyard flagstones resounded
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beneath horsehoofs.
Krasicki s group reined in. A medley of people hastened from every direction, babbling their excitement.
Most, livened, must be castle servants. Havig scarcely noticed. His attention was on one who thrust her
way past them until she stood be-fore him.
Enthusiasm blazed from her. He could barely follow the husky, accented voice:  Oktai s tail! You did
find  m!
She was nearly as tall as him, sturdily built, with broad shoul-ders and hips, comparatively small bust,
long smooth limbs. Her face bore high cheekbones, blunt nose, large mouth, good teeth save that two
were missing. (He would learn they had been knocked out in a fight.) Her hair, thick and mahogany, was
not worn in today s style, but waist-length, though now coiled in braids above barbarically large brass
earrings. Her eyes were brown and slightly almond-some Indian or Asian blood-under the heavy brows;
her skin, sun-tanned, was in a few places crossed by old scars. She wore a loose red tunic and kilt, laced
boots, a Bowie knife, a revolver, a loaded car-tridge belt, and, on a chain around her neck, the
articulated skull of a weasel.
 Where  ey from? You, yon! Her forefinger stabbed at Havig.   E High Years, no? A whoop of
laughter.  You got aplen y for tell me, trailmate!
 The Sachem is waiting, Krasicki reminded her.
  Kay, I ll wait alike, but not  e whole jokin day, you hear? And when Havig had dismounted, she
flung arms around him and kissed him full on the lips. She smelled of sunshine, leather, sweat, smoke, and
woman. Thus did he meet Leonce of the Glacier Folk, the Skula of Wahorn.
The office was the antechamber of a suite whose size and luxury it reflected. Oak paneling rose above a
deep-gray, thick-piled carpet. Drapes by the windows were likewise furry and feelable: mink. Because
of their massiveness, desk, chairs, and couch had been fashioned in this section of time; but the care
lavished on them was in contrast to the austerity Havig had observed in other rooms opening on the
hallways which took him here. Silver frames held some photographs. One was a period piece, a
daguerreotype of a faded-looking woman in the dress of the middle nineteenth century. The rest were
candid shots taken with an advanced camera, doubtless a miniature using a telescopic lens like his own. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]