The Virgin of Valkarion Reheld by Poula Anderson
a little, and the moonlight glinted off tears in his eyes.
'I love you for it, Alfrid, and gladly would go. But Therokoa is besieging the palace—she is gathering in all who ever spoke well of me . . . shall my friends be hanged and burned and hacked to bits, and I safe in Aslak?'
'You're a fool. What could you do for them?'
'Die. But this is no quarrel of yours, Alfrid. If you wish, go, and I shall not think of the less of you. Go—my dearest—'
She laughed again, and kissed his for a very long moment. 'You are a fool and a madman, and I love you for that,' she said. 'Come—we can still show these priests the color of steel!'
IV
They trotted rapidly along the ways, their mail clanking. Erelong they were out of the deserted district and approaching the central forum.
It seethed with people. All Valkarion seemed to be out tonight, moving slowly, aimlessly, under the compulsion of a nameless fear. The town buzzed with voices, low, secretive, and the shuffle of thousands of feet under the lamps and the bobbing torches. High over the muted tumult, blown on the harrying wind, chant and gong-beat came from the Temple.
Alfrid and Hildebrand pushed their way through the milling, murmuring tide. The unease, the rising wave of fear, was like a tangible force; the northerner's skin with thousands of eyes, shifting and staring out of pale faces—the city was full of eyes.
She heard a voice as she came to the edge of the great plaza. Thrusting forward, the tall barbarian looked over the heads of the crowd. There was a rostrum, surrounded by a tight ring of Temple guards, and from atop it a robed priestess was haranguing the throng.
'—the Dynasty is dead, and the wrath of the Moons lies heavy over Valkarion. Woe to the world, for the heathen fiend, the scourge of Dannos, is loose!
'Yet I bring hope—aye, from all-merciful Mother Amaris I bring cheer in this darkest hour. There is time, still time to seize the barbarian ere her power grows. There is still time, too, to seize and disown the half-caste warlock Hildebrand. There is time to submit to the wise rule of the Temple, that the High Priestess may intercede with All-father Dannos. Repent and be forgiven—destroy the evilworkers who brought this trouble on you, and the Mating of the Moons will yet bring forth a new birth of hope!'
Alfrid grew aware of the muttering about her—the commons of Valkarion, laborer, artisan, merchant, peasant, turning thought over and growling it to her neighbor.
'—an ill choice, to see the city ruined or bow to the shavepates.'
'I am afraid. The Moons are high and bitter bright now, they are looking down on us. I am afraid.'
''Twas Hildebrand who lowered the taxes. 'Twas Hildebrand, and not dotard Aureol or thieving Therokoa, who whipped the army into shape and beat off the Savonnian invaders. What has the Temple ever done for us, save milk us for our tithes and frighten our babes with stories of godly wrath?'
'Hush! The Moons are watching!'
'Hildebrand is beautiful, he is like a god as he rides through the streets and smiles on us. Amaris himself is not more beautiful.'
'The Temple is holy.'
'The priests burned my sister for sorcery. She had one of the old books, that is all; she tried to build the machine it told of—and they burned her.'
'They have enough old books themselves. They sit on all the wisdom of the ancients, and none of us can so much as read.'
'The Fates are abroad tonight. I am afraid.'
'My daughter is in the Household. They're after her skin—he'll hang if she isn't dead already—unless—'
'Aye, my daughter is in the city guards. They told her to go hunt down the stranger and the Empress—the Empress!—and off she went.' A grim chuckle. 'But I think she is sitting quietly in some corner, waiting.'
'There is an old battle ax at home. My grandmother bore it in the Rurian war. I think I could still swing it if need be.' 'I am afraid—'
Alfrid smiled, a steely grimace in the shadow of her visor, and led the way onward.
But she was not to pass easily. She thrust aside a burly peasant, who turned on her with a snarl. 'Mind your manners, guardswoman! Is't not enough you should be traitor to the Empress?'
'Aye, the city guards have sat about drinking and gaming and making the streets unsafe for our sons,' said another woman harshly. 'They didn't get off their fat butts till this chance came to go yapping after Hildebrand.'
Alfrid tried to shoulder past the ring of angry folk who gathered. 'Aside!' she called. 'Aside, or I use my spear!'
'Mind your manners, guardswoman,' grinned the peasant. She came closer, and Alfrid smelled the wine on her breath. 'What say we have a little fun with these priest-lovers, comrades? Will they squeal when we pummel 'em?'
Alfrid's fist shot out like a ball of iron. There was a dull smack, and the pleasant flew back against the woman behind. The barbarian flailed out with her spear butt, and the crowd gave way.
'Through!' she muttered to Hildebrand. 'Quick, we have to get away.'
'They're our friends,' he whispered frantically. 'Can't we reveal—'
'And bring the guard down on thisunarmed mob? We wouldn't last a moment. Come!'
A stone clanged against the boy's helmet. He staggered, half collapsing into Alf ric's arms. The crowd growled, beast-like, and shoved in closer.
'Aside!' shouted Alfrid. 'Make way, or the curse of the Moons is on you!' 'You talk like a priestess,' said a laborer thickly. She lifted a heavy billet of wood. 'On them, girls! Kill them!'
Alfrid laid the half-stunned boy on the ground, stood over him, and drew her broadsword. 'An outlander!' shouted someone, back in the sea of shadowy, torch-lit, hating faces. 'A mercenary, hunting our empress!'
The mob surged against her. She thrust around with the sword, striking to disable but not to kill—though she'd slay if she had to, she thought desperately.
Stones were flying. One hit her on the cheek. Pain knifed through her head. 'Hai, Ruho!' she roared, and banged a skull. The mob edged away a little. Eyes and teeth gleamed white in the bloody torchlight.
A trumpet-blast sounded, harsh and arrogant over the rising voices. Someone screamed. Alfrid saw spears aloft, steel gleaming red—a squad of guardswomen to the rescue.
The rescue! She groaned, lifted Hildebrand, and sought to retreat through the crowd.
Too late. The guards were hacking a bloody way through the mob; it scattered in panic and the squad was there.
'Just in time,' panted its chief. 'The folk are ugly. They've killed a dozen guardswomen already, to my knowledge, a couple of priests, I don't know how many Temple slaves—Dannos smite the blasphemers!'
'Thanks.' Alfrid set the reviving boy on his feet. 'Now I have to go—special mission, urgent—'
The chief looked sharply at her. 'You have a barbarous accent,' she said slowly, 'and you're no Valkariona. Who—'
Hildebrand groaned, stirring back to cosciousness. 'Alfrid—'
'A boy—no—' The officer stepped forth. Hildebrand's lovely face turned toward the light, and she gasped. 'She—'
Alfrid picked up her spear and hurled it through the chief's throat. Then she lifted her dripping sword and stood by Hildebrand, waiting for the end.
'The Emperor—the Emperor, and the heathen—We've found them—'
The crowd had withdrawn, milling around the edges of the forum, too frightened and confused to help. The priestess and her guards were coming on the double, yelling for help. Other armed women seemed to be springing from the ground.
'Alive!' shrilled the priestess. 'Take them alive if you can! A thousand gildars!'
The guards were well disciplined. They locked shields in a ring about Alfrid and closed in. Woman for woman, she could have laughed at them—but this way-
Hildebrand swayed on his feet beside her. 'So this is the end?' he whispered. 'I love you, Alfrid—'
She howled her rage, and sprang forward. The sword blurred in her hands, ringing on shields and helmets. A guard fell, shrieking, her right arm sheared off. Alfrid stabbed anot
her in the neck, kicked a third in the groin, and roared.
They surged around her, hemming her in with their shields. Clubbed spears thudded against her helmet, and it rang like a brazen gong, She staggered, shouted, struck out again—the sword fell from her hands—he toppled into a clamoring darkness.
Dimly, she was aware of being stripped of armor, chained hand and foot, hauled roughly to her feet. She lurched mechanically along, and slowly her head cleared. Through a mist of throbbing pain, she saw that Hildebrand walked beside her. Spears pricked their backs, the chains rattled on ankles and wrists. They were in the middle of a tight triple ring of guards, marching up the hill toward the Temple.
The villas of the mighty lay around them, white in the moonlight, fragrant with gardens. Alfrid saw fountains splashing, and even then thought of the parched land beyond the walls, land that might flower again if it had that water.
But that would never be. She would swing high above the city, the falkhs would pick out her eyes—Hildebrand would die, and the grip of the Temple would be locken on Valkarion till its last stones were dust on the wind.
Strength came back, a bleak resolve not to go down without one more fight. Her brain began whirring, the old cold craftiness of her turbulent lifetime surged forward...hopeless: They were caught, they were done; all her struggles were the vain writhings of a beast in a cage.
'So this ends it.' Hildebrand's voice was weary. Then he smiled a little. 'But we made a good try, Alfrid.' And warmly; 'And we have loved each other. That is enough.'
'It is not,' she answered. 'But it is
'I love you for it, Alfrid, and gladly would go. But Therokoa is besieging the palace—she is gathering in all who ever spoke well of me . . . shall my friends be hanged and burned and hacked to bits, and I safe in Aslak?'
'You're a fool. What could you do for them?'
'Die. But this is no quarrel of yours, Alfrid. If you wish, go, and I shall not think of the less of you. Go—my dearest—'
She laughed again, and kissed his for a very long moment. 'You are a fool and a madman, and I love you for that,' she said. 'Come—we can still show these priests the color of steel!'
IV
They trotted rapidly along the ways, their mail clanking. Erelong they were out of the deserted district and approaching the central forum.
It seethed with people. All Valkarion seemed to be out tonight, moving slowly, aimlessly, under the compulsion of a nameless fear. The town buzzed with voices, low, secretive, and the shuffle of thousands of feet under the lamps and the bobbing torches. High over the muted tumult, blown on the harrying wind, chant and gong-beat came from the Temple.
Alfrid and Hildebrand pushed their way through the milling, murmuring tide. The unease, the rising wave of fear, was like a tangible force; the northerner's skin with thousands of eyes, shifting and staring out of pale faces—the city was full of eyes.
She heard a voice as she came to the edge of the great plaza. Thrusting forward, the tall barbarian looked over the heads of the crowd. There was a rostrum, surrounded by a tight ring of Temple guards, and from atop it a robed priestess was haranguing the throng.
'—the Dynasty is dead, and the wrath of the Moons lies heavy over Valkarion. Woe to the world, for the heathen fiend, the scourge of Dannos, is loose!
'Yet I bring hope—aye, from all-merciful Mother Amaris I bring cheer in this darkest hour. There is time, still time to seize the barbarian ere her power grows. There is still time, too, to seize and disown the half-caste warlock Hildebrand. There is time to submit to the wise rule of the Temple, that the High Priestess may intercede with All-father Dannos. Repent and be forgiven—destroy the evilworkers who brought this trouble on you, and the Mating of the Moons will yet bring forth a new birth of hope!'
Alfrid grew aware of the muttering about her—the commons of Valkarion, laborer, artisan, merchant, peasant, turning thought over and growling it to her neighbor.
'—an ill choice, to see the city ruined or bow to the shavepates.'
'I am afraid. The Moons are high and bitter bright now, they are looking down on us. I am afraid.'
''Twas Hildebrand who lowered the taxes. 'Twas Hildebrand, and not dotard Aureol or thieving Therokoa, who whipped the army into shape and beat off the Savonnian invaders. What has the Temple ever done for us, save milk us for our tithes and frighten our babes with stories of godly wrath?'
'Hush! The Moons are watching!'
'Hildebrand is beautiful, he is like a god as he rides through the streets and smiles on us. Amaris himself is not more beautiful.'
'The Temple is holy.'
'The priests burned my sister for sorcery. She had one of the old books, that is all; she tried to build the machine it told of—and they burned her.'
'They have enough old books themselves. They sit on all the wisdom of the ancients, and none of us can so much as read.'
'The Fates are abroad tonight. I am afraid.'
'My daughter is in the Household. They're after her skin—he'll hang if she isn't dead already—unless—'
'Aye, my daughter is in the city guards. They told her to go hunt down the stranger and the Empress—the Empress!—and off she went.' A grim chuckle. 'But I think she is sitting quietly in some corner, waiting.'
'There is an old battle ax at home. My grandmother bore it in the Rurian war. I think I could still swing it if need be.' 'I am afraid—'
Alfrid smiled, a steely grimace in the shadow of her visor, and led the way onward.
But she was not to pass easily. She thrust aside a burly peasant, who turned on her with a snarl. 'Mind your manners, guardswoman! Is't not enough you should be traitor to the Empress?'
'Aye, the city guards have sat about drinking and gaming and making the streets unsafe for our sons,' said another woman harshly. 'They didn't get off their fat butts till this chance came to go yapping after Hildebrand.'
Alfrid tried to shoulder past the ring of angry folk who gathered. 'Aside!' she called. 'Aside, or I use my spear!'
'Mind your manners, guardswoman,' grinned the peasant. She came closer, and Alfrid smelled the wine on her breath. 'What say we have a little fun with these priest-lovers, comrades? Will they squeal when we pummel 'em?'
Alfrid's fist shot out like a ball of iron. There was a dull smack, and the pleasant flew back against the woman behind. The barbarian flailed out with her spear butt, and the crowd gave way.
'Through!' she muttered to Hildebrand. 'Quick, we have to get away.'
'They're our friends,' he whispered frantically. 'Can't we reveal—'
'And bring the guard down on thisunarmed mob? We wouldn't last a moment. Come!'
A stone clanged against the boy's helmet. He staggered, half collapsing into Alf ric's arms. The crowd growled, beast-like, and shoved in closer.
'Aside!' shouted Alfrid. 'Make way, or the curse of the Moons is on you!' 'You talk like a priestess,' said a laborer thickly. She lifted a heavy billet of wood. 'On them, girls! Kill them!'
Alfrid laid the half-stunned boy on the ground, stood over him, and drew her broadsword. 'An outlander!' shouted someone, back in the sea of shadowy, torch-lit, hating faces. 'A mercenary, hunting our empress!'
The mob surged against her. She thrust around with the sword, striking to disable but not to kill—though she'd slay if she had to, she thought desperately.
Stones were flying. One hit her on the cheek. Pain knifed through her head. 'Hai, Ruho!' she roared, and banged a skull. The mob edged away a little. Eyes and teeth gleamed white in the bloody torchlight.
A trumpet-blast sounded, harsh and arrogant over the rising voices. Someone screamed. Alfrid saw spears aloft, steel gleaming red—a squad of guardswomen to the rescue.
The rescue! She groaned, lifted Hildebrand, and sought to retreat through the crowd.
Too late. The guards were hacking a bloody way through the mob; it scattered in panic and the squad was there.
'Just in time,' panted its chief. 'The folk are ugly. They've killed a dozen guardswomen already, to my knowledge, a couple of priests, I don't know how many Temple slaves—Dannos smite the blasphemers!'
'Thanks.' Alfrid set the reviving boy on his feet. 'Now I have to go—special mission, urgent—'
The chief looked sharply at her. 'You have a barbarous accent,' she said slowly, 'and you're no Valkariona. Who—'
Hildebrand groaned, stirring back to cosciousness. 'Alfrid—'
'A boy—no—' The officer stepped forth. Hildebrand's lovely face turned toward the light, and she gasped. 'She—'
Alfrid picked up her spear and hurled it through the chief's throat. Then she lifted her dripping sword and stood by Hildebrand, waiting for the end.
'The Emperor—the Emperor, and the heathen—We've found them—'
The crowd had withdrawn, milling around the edges of the forum, too frightened and confused to help. The priestess and her guards were coming on the double, yelling for help. Other armed women seemed to be springing from the ground.
'Alive!' shrilled the priestess. 'Take them alive if you can! A thousand gildars!'
The guards were well disciplined. They locked shields in a ring about Alfrid and closed in. Woman for woman, she could have laughed at them—but this way-
Hildebrand swayed on his feet beside her. 'So this is the end?' he whispered. 'I love you, Alfrid—'
She howled her rage, and sprang forward. The sword blurred in her hands, ringing on shields and helmets. A guard fell, shrieking, her right arm sheared off. Alfrid stabbed anot
They surged around her, hemming her in with their shields. Clubbed spears thudded against her helmet, and it rang like a brazen gong, She staggered, shouted, struck out again—the sword fell from her hands—he toppled into a clamoring darkness.
Dimly, she was aware of being stripped of armor, chained hand and foot, hauled roughly to her feet. She lurched mechanically along, and slowly her head cleared. Through a mist of throbbing pain, she saw that Hildebrand walked beside her. Spears pricked their backs, the chains rattled on ankles and wrists. They were in the middle of a tight triple ring of guards, marching up the hill toward the Temple.
The villas of the mighty lay around them, white in the moonlight, fragrant with gardens. Alfrid saw fountains splashing, and even then thought of the parched land beyond the walls, land that might flower again if it had that water.
But that would never be. She would swing high above the city, the falkhs would pick out her eyes—Hildebrand would die, and the grip of the Temple would be locken on Valkarion till its last stones were dust on the wind.
Strength came back, a bleak resolve not to go down without one more fight. Her brain began whirring, the old cold craftiness of her turbulent lifetime surged forward...hopeless: They were caught, they were done; all her struggles were the vain writhings of a beast in a cage.
'So this ends it.' Hildebrand's voice was weary. Then he smiled a little. 'But we made a good try, Alfrid.' And warmly; 'And we have loved each other. That is enough.'
'It is not,' she answered. 'But it is