The Science Fiction Novel Super Pack No. 1. David Lindsay

The fat man eased himself cautiously up, and I felt a steel point caress my lowest rib. The threat didn’t need words. I could see the Narabedlans gathered, a tight little knot in the road. The snipers around me were still holding their weapons, but the fat man commanded in a low voice “Don’t fire! They’re sure to have guards riding behind them—” the voice died to a rasping mutter, and I lay motionless, trying to dredge up some of Adric’s memories that might help; but the only thing I got was a fleeting memory of my own football days and a flying tackle by a Penn State halfback that had knocked me ten feet. Adric was gone; clean gone.

      The Narabedlans were talking in low tones, Gamine the rallying-point round which they clustered. Evarin had his sword out, but even he did not step toward the mantling thicket. Cynara was holding Evarin’s arm, protesting wildly. “No, no, no, no! They’ll kill Adric—”

      Suddenly, between two breaths, the road was alive with mounted men. Who they were, I never knew; I was quickly dragged to my feet and jerked away. Behind me I heard shouting, and steel, and saw thin flashes of colored flame. Spots of black danced before my eyes as I stumbled along between two captors. I felt my sword dragged from my scabbard. Oh well, I thought wryly, now that Adric’s run out on the party I don’t know how to use it anyway. Under the impetus of a knife I found myself clambering awkwardly into a saddle, felt the horse running beneath me. There wasn’t a chance of getting away, and the frying pan couldn’t be much worse than the fire, anyway.

      Behind us the noises of battle died away. The horse I rode raced, sure-footed, into the darkness. I hung on with both hands to keep from falling; only Adric’s habitual reflexes kept me from tumbling ignominiously to the ground. I don’t think I had any more coherent thoughts until the jolting rhythm broke and we came out of the forest into full moonlight and a glare of open fires.

      I raised my head and looked around me. We were in a grove, tree-ringed like a Druid temple, lit by watch-fires and the waver of torches. Tents sprouted in the clearing, giving it an untidy, gypsy appearance; at the back was a white frame house with a flat roof and wide doors, but no windows.

      Men and women were coming out of the tents everywhere. The talk was a Pentecost of tongues, but I heard one name, repeated over and over again.

      “Narayan! Narayan!” the shouts clamored.

      A slim young man, blond, dressed in rough brown, came from one of the larger tents and walked deliberately toward me. The crowd drew back, widening to let him approach; before he came within twenty yards he made a signal to one of the men to untie my gag and let me down. I stood, clinging to the saddle, exhausted; the young man came forward until he could almost have touched me, and studied my face dispassionately. At last he raised his head, turning to the fat man, my captor.

      “This isn’t Adric,” he said. “This man is a stranger.”

      I should have been relieved; I don’t know why I wasn’t. Instead, my first reaction was bewilderment and angry annoyance. How could he tell that? I was as furiously embarrassed as if I’d been accused of wearing stolen clothing. My beefy captor was as angry as I was. “What do you mean, this isn’t Adric?” he demanded belligerently, “We took him right out of their accursed cavalcade! If it isn’t Adric, who is it?”

      “I wish I knew,” Narayan muttered under his breath. His eyes, still fixed on my face, were level, disconcerting. He was tall and straightly built, with pale blond hair cut square around his shoulders like a squire from a Provencal ballad, and grey eyes that looked grave, but friendly. I liked his looks, but he had a trace of the uncanny stillness I’d noticed in old Rhys, in Gamine. For a moment I decided to tell my whole fantastic story to this man with the grave eyes. He would surely believe it. But to my surprise, he spoke and called me Adric; definitely, as if he had forgotten his doubts. “Adric,” he said, “Do you still remember me? Or did Karamy take that too?”

      I sighed. I didn’t dare tell the truth, and I felt too chilled and exhausted and disoriented to lie convincingly. Yet lie I must, and do it well.

      The fat man scowled and fronted Narayan. “Karamy—Zandru’s eyelashes!” he growled. “Look you, did Brennan come back this afternoon? He knows his way around Rainbow City. Ask Adric what happened to Brennan!”

      The clamoring broke out around us again, but Narayan never took his eyes from my face as he answered gently “There is always danger, Raif. Blame no man unjustly. Brennan knew he faced all the dangers of Rainbow City. And even Adric is not to blame if a she-witch has him under her spells.” “Traitor!” Raif snarled at me and spat.

      I loosed the saddle-horn and stepped dizzily forward. “You might try asking me,” I said with a weary anger.

      “Are you Adric of the Crimson Tower?” fat Raif snapped.

      “I don’t know—” I said tiredly. “I don’t know, I don’t know!”

      Narayan’s eyes met mine in puzzlement. Abruptly he put out one hand and took my wrist in a firm grip. “We can’t talk here, whoever you are,” he said. “Come along.”

      He led me through the thinning crowd into the frame house at the grove’s edge; Raif and one other man trailed after us, the rest clustering hive-fashion around the door. Inside, in a great timbered room, a fire burned and glowing globes chased away darkness. I went gratefully toward the fire; I was stiff with riding and I felt chilled and stupid and empty with the cold. From a wood settle near the fire, a woman rose. She was slight and dark and around her shoulders the luminescent shimmer of her winged cloak flowed like another flame. Cynara.

      “Adric—” she said half-aloud, holding out her hands. I took them, partly because she seemed to expect it, partly because the girl seemed the only thing real in a world gone haywire. She flung her arms suddenly around my neck and held herself to me with a shy deliberation. “Adric, Adric, Adric—” she begged, “I slipped away in the dark—I suppose Gamine knows—but they’ll never find me here, no, never—”

      Narayan’s hand pulled the girl sternly away from me; she shrank before the annoyance in his eyes. “Please—Narayan, no—”

      The blond man looked at her without speaking for long moments. At last he said gravely “Sister, you must go back to Narabedla. I would not make you go if there was another way; but you must, for a time.” He beckoned to one of the men. “Kerrel—” he commanded, “Take Cynara back to Rainbow City, but don’t get caught. Cynara; tell them you were lost in the woods, or that you were caught and escaped.”

      The childish mouth trembled, and she turned to me appealingly, but I gave a little shrug. What was I supposed to do? Narayan gave Cynara a gentle push. “Go with Kerrel, little sister,” he ordered in a quiet voice; Kerrel took her arm and they hurried out of the room, the winged cloak she wore fluttering on her shoulders. Narayan motioned to Raif to follow them through the door. “I’ll talk with him alone.”

      Raif’s thick lips set stubbornly. He looked as if he’d be nasty in a fight. “If he’s Adric, and if he’s under Karamy’s devilments, then—”

      “I have faced Adric, and Karamy too,” said Narayan with a friendly grin at the man. “Get out, Raif; you’re not my bodyguard, or even my nurse!”

      The fat man accepted dismissal reluctantly, and Narayan came to my side. There was real friendliness in his grin. “Well,” he said, “Now we will talk. You cannot kill me, any more than I could kill you, so we may as well be truthful with each other. Why did you leave us, Adric? What has Karamy done to you this time?”

      The room reeled around me. I put out a hand to steady myself—when the dizziness cleared, Narayan’s arm was around my shoulders and he was holding me up with a strength surprising in his slight frame. He let me settle down on the seat Cynara had left. “You have been roughly handled,” he said in apology, “Just sit still a minute. My men—” he made a deprecating little gesture, “have had orders. And if I know Karamy’s ways, you’ve been heavily drugged for a long time.” His eyes studied me intently. “Better come and have a drink. And—when did you eat last? You look half starved. That’s the way of the sharig—”

      I