Chapter 8
The sky that had been empty over the desert was full of twittering birds now, swooping down to circle around his head and off again into the sky, in triumphant patterns. Roan stood tall and straight before the throne.
King Byron, dressed in blue silk velvet and rows of snowy ermine, and looking more regal than ever before, congratulated him warmly.
“We shall be proud to have you in the family, my dear young man,” he said, shaking Roan’s hand in a firm grip. “You’re a hero! You have saved the Dreamland!”
Roan smiled, and bowed deeply, feeling his head swim at such compliments. “Your Majesty, I am honored to have been of service, but I have to give credit to those others who helped me by arriving in the nick of time.”
Byron smiled back and raised his hands high. “Your modesty ill-defines your courage and abilities. You have swept aside any objections I had to you marrying my daughter. The wedding will proceed at once!” He clapped his hands.
“Her Ephemeral Highness, the Princess Leonora!” the herald bellowed, but even he sounded elegant, and was clad in yards of sea-green velvet and golden lace.
The princess, looking more lovely and remote than ever, dressed in a filmy lace gown that was nearly insubstantial and yet still opaque enough to protect virginal modesty, stepped forward and laid her fingers on Roan’s arm. She smiled brilliantly up at him as trumpeters played a slow march. Roan and his chosen lady walked together along an aisle carpeted with white silk and strewn with flowers, to an altar of gold and warm brown wood, backed by a colored window that looked like the intricate branches of a tree with blue sky and green leaves of stained glass between the thick black lines. As the triumphant music rose around them, the princess turned toward him and raised her sheer, white veil; her beautiful brown—no, blue—no, green eyes were full of worry as she looked up into his face.
“Can you hear me, Roan? Darling, are you all right?”
The headache centered behind his forehead throbbed with every single word she spoke. He opened his mouth to reply, and wondered why her wedding dress had turned into a heavy, dark green, roll-neck silk tunic that matched her eyes. Behind her, instead of the stained glass window, was a tracery of branches like black lace. He groaned. He wasn’t back in Mnemosyne, getting married. He was lying in the middle of a public footpath within sight of a real forest.
A large fish’s head leaned over him, and something wet touched his mouth. Roan tried gratefully to drink. He was very dry.
“He’s coming to, my dear.” Bergold’s voice, thank the Sleepers. He would explain what had happened. Roan turned his head slightly. Behind the Historian were several more shadows, and the outlines of a herd of bicycles, most of them heavily laden with packs. The steeds had come back at last.
“How do you feel?” Leonora asked, gently turning his head back with her fingers. “Can you speak?”
“What are you doing here?” Roan asked at last, his voice sounding far away. Leonora sat back on her heels as Bergold and the others helped Roan sit up.
“I brought your bicycle,” she said, with the same bright, intense smile that she had worn in his vision of their wedding—but at the moment he wasn’t quite so pleased to see it. “He’s very skittish. He wouldn’t let anyone ride but me. I had to lead Golden Schwinn. All the steeds are unusually nervous. I don’t know what Brom did to them. And we picked up your trail markers. I thought you might want them back.” She gestured to one of the men, who brought Roan the bundle of multicolored arrow-shaped signs.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Roan said urgently, lowering his voice. His head ached mightily, but he managed to touch it gingerly with both hands. It still felt the same size on the outside, but the inside had ballooned with pain enough to fill several provinces.
“Of course I should,” Leonora said, the gamine smile taking on a slight edge. “I told you, this is my task as much as yours.”
Scenting a private argument, the others tactfully withdrew a few paces. Roan didn’t relish what he had to say, but he promised himself he would keep from insulting her this time. He took her hand in both of his.
“You must go home, Leonora,” he said sincerely, looking deeply into her eyes. “I thank you for coming now, and I’m happy to see you, because I didn’t get to explain my reasons in the court.” Roan’s head ached as he searched for words. “There are undoubtedly hardships ahead. Brom has proved he will stop little short of murder to carry out his task. We must catch him before he finds the Hall of the Sleepers. Those of us who have experience and training in traveling long, hard distances, sleeping out of doors, and dealing with violence are best suited to this mission. We would find the task that much easier if we didn’t have to worry about protecting you at the same time. Please go back to your father, if not tonight, in the morning.”
“Certainly not,” the princess said, with spirit, dusting her hands together. She manifested a water bottle and held it out to him. “This is my father’s kingdom—and someday mine, as you pointed out. It is right that I help save it from those madmen. I’ll take care of myself. Are you thirsty? You’re covered in sand.”
“But they’re dangerous! Look at me.” Roan felt the bruise in the middle of his forehead. It had swollen into a perceptible lump, and he bet that it was turning purple.
“Yes, but you were alone,” Leonora pointed out. “Now, you are not. I brought some of the palace guards. Together, we’ll all be safe.”
“Does your father know you’re here?”
“Of course he does. Roan, I’m not going back,” she said, quickly. Roan was aghast. She hadn’t told him.
“For your own safety,” Roan pleaded. Leonora sat back and folded her arms. Since their childhood, that gesture had meant she had made up her mind, and nothing short of a Changeover would shift her. Perhaps not even that.
“Men!” Roan stood up woozily to beckon to a pair of uniformed guards standing near the bicycles. They had an apprentice scientist between them. His hands were attached at the forefinger-tips by an unbreakable, woven straw tube.
It was Captain Spar himself who answered Roan’s call. Spar left the prisoner near the hitching post in the care of Corporal Lum and the two other guards, and came to stand at attention beside Leonora with a crashing salute that made Roan wince for his own forehead.
“Yes, sir!”
“Please escort the princess back to Mnemosyne at once,” Roan said. “She’s not accompanying us any farther. I think there’s enough daylight for you to reach the palace before full dark.”
“No,” Leonora said, springing up, her eyes sparkling. The soldiers looked from her to Roan, wondering what to do. “Ignore that order. Roan, these men are my father’s officers, not yours. They obey me.”
Spar gave Roan a look of undiluted sympathy, but he backed away from the princess, who stood with her hands on her hips. Leonora had grown formidable in her beauty, tall, blonde, and sturdy, the green tunic molded to her form as a Valkyrie’s armor, and her heart-shaped face thickened at the jaw to show muscle.
“You need to get used to the idea of having me as part of the party,” she said, raising a muscular forefinger warningly. “Make the best of that, because that’s one thing that is not changing.”
Roan opened his mouth, and decided he couldn’t trust himself to speak at that moment. He looked around for his hat. The desert whim of the Sleeper had ceased. Sparse trees and bushes dotted the surrounding grassland, which was furnished with a riotous blanket of bright-colored flowers. Roan found his hat half a dozen paces away in a cluster of red blossoms, and slapped it into a wide-brimmed fedora with padding in the crown. What couldn’t be cured must be endured. That was one of the old wise sayings that had come down from the Sleepers since time immemorial. Leonora’s strongmindedness might actually be an asset to her on the road. She might also tire of the game, if they were lucky, before she got into a dangerous situation. He walked back to her, and she raised an eyebrow at him.
“All right, we’ll try it,” he said. “But if there’s any real trouble . . .”
“I’ll stay out of the way,” she said, promptly, sensing that she had won. Her breastplate softened again into the tunic that matched her eyes, and her body slimmed to suppleness. She had a playful dimple in her cheek just beside the corner of her mouth when she wanted one. It appeared now. “And if I prove to be a problem, I’ll go home at once, without an argument. I promise I won’t hold your decision against you. Is it a bargain?”
She held out her hand, and Roan clasped it, feeling more than a little foolish. Her offer was fair enough. She really was perfect. He shook his head, trying to think like a leader, and less like a besotted calf.
“Done and done,” he said. She grinned like a child, and he suddenly saw how frightened she was. He immediately had second thoughts. He had to admit he was worried, too.
“We’d better hear all about what happened to you on the road,” Bergold said, detecting that the argument was over. He came around to slap Roan on the back. The historian was now in the shape of a man with the head of a fish. His eyes, one on either side of his narrow, flattened face, lacked eyelids, so all their expression was in the expansion or contraction of the pupils. Roan focused on one great, round eye, and told his story. Spar, Lum, and the guards moved close enough to listen, while still keeping an eye on their prisoner, whom they had secured to the hitching post with a bicycle lock. Drea, Leonora’s ancient nurse and confidant, fussed over the bandages on Roan’s forehead, with Colenna, a retired field observer from the Ministry of History, standing by with a handful of gauze from her amazingly capacious handbag. Felan, also from the Ministry of History, and Misha, from Continuity, were two young men he had seen about court but did not really know. They listened to Roan carefully, as if committing every word to memory for the archives. If this mission was successful, the tale would be an important and popular one throughout the Dreamland. If they failed . . . no one might be around to tell it, or to listen.
“So they’ve found a way of detecting nuisances, eh?” Bergold said when Roan had finished. He ran a thoughtful finger down the side of one gill. “That would have been a very useful device to the rest of us. Pity Carodil never seems to share the good stuff. And who is this lad?” He beckoned the guards over. The young man between them dragged his feet, swearing colorfully in mathematical formulae and scientific notation.
“One of them,” Roan said. “Treat him gently. He never tried to attack me.”
“I’m not a physical oaf, if that’s what you mean,” the youth said. For a moment he tried to duplicate Brom’s cold-eyed, intellectual stare, but he couldn’t maintain it for long. He shifted back to his own countenance, an amiable, scared, slightly weak-chinned young man. “I’m an intellectual.”
“Where are the others going?” Spar asked him, shaking his arm roughly. “Where are they making for?”
“That’s classified,” the youth said, trying to fold his arms and failing because of the fingertrap. “You won’t get me to betray my leader.” He and Spar glared at each other.
“I would if I had the time, my lad,” the captain of the guard said. “Believe that. You’d best talk while there are teeth left in your head.”
“I bet you couldn’t trust a word he’d say,” Colenna said, peering up into the young man’s face. He ignored her.
“We’ve still got the footprints to follow,” Roan said. “He can’t hide those. Brom left in too much of a hurry to cover them.”
“Shall we take this young buffoon with us?” Spar asked. “Or should we send him back to take his medicine from Carodil?”
At the mention of the minister’s name, the young man looked nervous for the first time, but he gritted his teeth.
“Do what you will with me,” he said, stoutly. “I’ll die in the name of Science.”
“You young ass—” Spar began, but Leonora put a fingertip on his arm to arrest him.
“Please, let me,” she said, undulating into the young man’s line of view. His eyes widened when he saw the princess, but he didn’t speak. “You have to help us. Can’t you see that what Brom wants to do is wrong? He’ll destroy us all.”
“What does that matter, if it uncovers the truth?” the young man asked, trying to sound reasonable, but his voice trembled just a little.
Leonora pressed her advantage. She changed subtly a little at a time. Her shining hair unbound itself and unfolded down her back into thick, silky tresses. The heavy, green tunic thinned until it looked more like the gown she had worn in the court, clinging to the curves of her body, then her cloak edged itself in ermine tassels. The small gold locket on the thin chain around her neck became a regal golden pendant with a shining diamond at its heart. Behind Roan, he heard gentle murmurs of approval from the others. The apprentice gulped, but he held his chin high.
“You are a loyal subject of the Dreamland,” Leonora said, now more a shining vision than a flesh-and-blood woman. She was the symbol of all good and all beauty. No one, male or female, could behold her and be unaffected. Her voice was persuasive and gentle, permeating Roan’s consciousness. He wished he was the subject of her focus. “You want it to continue. We all do. I would consider it a personal service if you would help us. My father would look on you with favor, even offer you a boon, in exchange for your help.” She took a half-pace closer to him, and even Roan felt the young man’s blood pressure go up. “I would be so grateful. I need your aid. For the sake of the Dreamland.”
The apprentice stared at her, red-faced and desperate. “I . . . can’t . . . say . . . any . . . more.” He turned away and put his hands over his eyes. Leonora stepped back, mortal and vulnerable again, with her mouth open in shock. Roan hurried over to put an arm around her shoulders, and felt her clothes thickening with padding. She was hurt. Never in Roan’s experience had such an appeal based on the powerful combination of patriotism and her personal magnetism been turned down. Either Brom must have aroused incorruptible loyalty in his forces or else the normal urges of men were dead in this poor boy. Leonora turned sad, lovely eyes up to Roan, who shook his head. It wasn’t her fault. She gave him a bright, brittle smile in a face that looked like a china doll.
“Oh, bother, if the young fanatic’s not talking, he’ll be a pest on the road. And why should we feed him our travel rations?” Bergold asked, dismissing the apprentice with an annoyed wave. “Take him back to the castle. Here, Misha, would you do it? You look the equal of this young lout.”
“Gladly,” said Misha, whose natural form was robust and sturdy. He towered over the apprentice. “I might just make Mnemosyne by dark. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Just follow the trail,” Roan said.
They tied the youth’s arms with long grass and put him on the back of one of the pack animals. Misha pedaled off, keeping a good hold on the prisoner’s tether. Bergold tilted one large, flat eye while he rummaged through the pouch he carried over his shoulder.
“Aha!” he said, coming up with a pleated bundle of paper and waving it at Roan. “Romney sent a copy of the Great Map with us.” Bergold unfolded it part way so everyone could see the leaf that showed where they stood. “You’ve covered quite a distance on foot, my friend.”
“Not enough,” Roan said grimly, rubbing his forehead. “I didn’t stop them. But I’m grateful to Romney.”
“This map will continue to update whenever the Great Map itself is updated. We are to send messages back if we find a feature has altered.”
“We will if we can,” Roan said.
“Hurry up,” Leonora said, urgently. “Dusk is falling. Brom is going to get away from us.”
“No, he won’t, Your Highness,” Captain Spar said.
“They’re on foot, and carrying that heavy litter,” Roan reminded her as Bergold struggled to fold up the map. “We’ll catch up with them before dark. Never fear.”
Roan took a moment to compress the arrow signs into small stones again, and put them in his pocket. One never knew when they might be useful again. Lum brought Roan his steed. Cruiser was still nervous. He twitched and curvetted half a dozen times before Roan could get onto the saddle seat.
“Hurry,” Leonora pleaded.
“Can you see the trail?” Leonora asked, standing up on her pedals to pump harder. “I can’t see it any more.”
“It’s all right, Your Highness,” Lum assured her, riding steadily ahead of the company. He glanced back to nod encouragingly. He was a sinewy man of thirty with an amiable nature. His thick, dark hair was cut close to his head underneath his uniform helmet, and his dark eyes had long lashes in the corners that made them look almond-shaped. The beam of his bicycle lantern made a calico pattern of the path ahead, but he was able to read what signs it had to offer. An expert at orienteering, he had taken over the lead when Roan needed a break to rest his eyes.
Roan felt numb, as if he had been riding in a long, dim tunnel for years and years. The sun had sunk in the west until it was only a glimmer at the horizon. Lum let out a glad cry.
“I’ve got our lads here. Those heavy footprints are pretty well unmistakable.” The young corporal raised one hand to rub his eyes. “It’s been a long day. Will we stop soon, captain?”
“We can’t!” the princess said, alarmed. “Please go on, please! You’re not really tired, are you? I’m not.”
“Well, all right, Your Highness,” Lum said, obediently, and pulled sharply to one side. He crossed the verge where two footpaths met, and beckoned to the others. “Hup! To the right, please. I almost missed the trail here. They turned.”
Roan roused, grateful for the novelty of a change of direction. He shook himself, trying to awaken deadened nerves. “Are you sure?”
“Yessir. Heading east, now, it looks like.”
“Are you sure?” Felan echoed, a slim silhouette behind his bicycle lamp. “I thought I saw threshed grass off to the right just now. Still going south.”
“Did you?” Roan asked. “Show me. They might have split up. Lum, come with me. Spar, keep on. We’ll catch up.”
“Yes sir,” the captain called. The rest of the party rolled after him, their wheels hissing on the gravel and grass.
“Here, Roan,” Felan said. He backpedaled to a stop and extended a long arm to point down at the grass. “See the way it’s matted down? It keeps going, too!” He swung his hand outward to indicate the direction. Roan turned his bicycle lamp out that way and squinted.
A strong sensation of influence lay over this part of the land, and receded into the distance. Roan peered out as far as the end of his bicycle’s beam reached. The ground had been well-threshed, and recently, too.
“I don’t see anything, sir,” Lum said, positively.
“Don’t you see the way the grass is bent, man?” Felan said, irritably. “Come on.”
Roan heard the sound of bicycle tires hissing on the grass behind him. A guard, Private Hutchings, coasted to a stop, braking with his foot on the ground.
“Captain Spar asks what do you think?” he panted.
“The trail goes this way,” Felan said.
“Captain Spar says that the track he’s following is inconclusive,” the guard said, taking a deep breath. “He says Mistress Colenna got ahead of him in the woods and got lost and started calling for help, and when he found her and she got back in line he couldn’t find no trace of the track, not for 360 degrees in any direction, sir, and should the rest of us rejoin you, or halt until daybreak?”
Roan looked at the other two, who were clearly relying upon him for leadership. Felan swung a hand toward the broken ground leading south and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Lum stood stolidly astride his bicycle waiting for orders.
“Ask him to turn around and join us,” Roan said.
More endless riding. The sun had disappeared behind the hills. Even the stars were hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds, leaving only lamplight to guide them farther and farther south. Roan’s focus had shrunk to the narrow, bouncing beams. He felt as if the body he inhabited wasn’t his own any more. If he stopped pedaling, the bike’s wheels would keep spinning anyhow, round and round and round, because the path would pull him along by his eyeballs. Thunder loomed ominously around the edges of his hearing. Suddenly, a blast of lightning split the sky from top to bottom, filling it with a cold, blue glare.
“Look at that!” Spar shouted.
“The trail goes right to it,” Felan said.
Roan looked up from the track, and his heart filled with despair. Lightning cracked again, illuminating in a single flash the grotesque face of the Nightmare Forest.