when you were a commoner, you would keep your place. Now that you are a courtier, she suspects you of having aspirations.’ A slight smile played across her lips.
‘Aspirations?’ Pug said, not understanding.
Carline said shyly, ‘She thinks that you have ambitions to rise to higher station. She thinks you seek to influence me in certain ways.’
Pug stared at Carline. Abruptly comprehension dawned on him, and he said, ‘Oh,’ then, ‘Oh! Your Highness.’ He stood up. ‘I never would do such a thing. I mean, I would never think to . . . I mean . . .’
Carline abruptly stood and threw Pug an exasperated look. ‘Boys! You’re all idiots.’ Lifting the hem of her long green gown, she stormed off.
Pug sat down, more perplexed than before by the girl. It was almost as if . . . He let the thought trail away. The more it seemed possible that she could care for him, the more anxious the prospect made him. Carline was quite a bit more than the fairy-tale Princess he had imagined a short time back. With the stamp of one little foot, she could raise a storm in a saltcellar, one that could shake the keep. A girl of complex mind was the Princess, with a contradictory nature tossed into the bargain.
Further musing was interrupted by Tomas, dashing by. Catching a glimpse of his friend, he leapt up the three steps and halted breathlessly before him. ‘The Duke wants us. The man from the ship has died.’
They hastily assembled in the Duke’s council chamber, except Kulgan, who had not answered when a messenger knocked at his door. It was supposed he was too deeply engrossed in the problem of the magic scroll.
Father Tully looked pale and drawn. Pug was shocked by his appearance. Only a little more than an hour had passed, yet the old cleric looked as if he had spent several sleepless nights. His eyes were redrimmed and deep-set in dark circles. His face was ashen, and a light sheen of perspiration showed across his brow.
Borric poured the priest a goblet of wine from a decanter on a sideboard and handed it to him. Tully hesitated, for he was an abstemious man, then drank deeply. The others resumed their former positions around the table.
Borric looked at Tully and said, simply, ‘Well?’
‘The soldier from the beach regained consciousness for only a few minutes, a final rally before the end. During that time I had the opportunity to enter into a mind contact with him. I stayed with him through his last feverish dreams, trying to learn as much about him as I could. I nearly didn’t remove the contact in time.’
Pug paled. During the mind contact, the priest’s mind and the subject become as one. If Tully had not broken contact with the man when he died, the priest could have died or been rendered mad, for the two men shared feelings, fears, and sensations as well as thought. He now understood Tully’s exhausted state: the old priest had spent a great deal of energy maintaining the link with an uncooperative subject and had been party to the dying man’s pain and terror.
Tully took another drink of wine, then continued. ‘If this man’s dying dreams were not the product of fevered imaginings, then I fear his appearance heralds a grave situation.’ Tully took another sip of wine and pushed the goblet aside. ‘The man’s name was Xomich. He was a simple soldier of a nation, Honshoni, in something called the Empire of Tsuranuanni.’
Borric said, ‘I have never heard of this nation, nor of that Empire.’
Tully nodded and said, ‘I would have been surprised if you had. That man’s ship came from no sea of Midkemia.’ Pug and Tomas looked at each other, and Pug felt a chilling sensation, as, apparently, did Tomas, whose face had turned pale.
Tully went on. ‘We can only speculate on how the feat was managed, but I am certain that this ship comes from another world, removed from our own in time and space.’ Before questions could be asked, he said, ‘Let me explain.’
‘This man was sick with fever, and his mind wandered.’ Tully’s face flickered with remembered pain. ‘He was part of an honor guard for someone he thought of only as ‘Great One.’ There were conflicting images, and I can’t be sure, but it seems that the journey they were on was considered strange, both for the presence of this Great One and for the nature of the mission. The only concrete thought I gained was that this Great One had no need to travel by ship. Beyond that, I have little but quick and disjointed impressions. There was a city he knew as Yankora, then a terrible storm, and a sudden blinding brilliance, which may have been lightning striking the ship, but I think not. There was a thought of his captain and comrades being washed overboard. Then a crash on the rocks.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I am not sure if those images are in order, for I think it likely that the crew was lost before the blinding light.’
‘Why?’ asked Borric.
‘I’m ahead of myself,’ said Tully. ‘First I’d like to explain why I think this man is from another world.
‘This Xomich grew to manhood in a land ruled by great armies. They are a warrior race, whose ships control the seas. But what seas? Never, to my knowledge, has there been mention of contact with these people. And there are other visions that are even more convincing. Great cities, far larger than those in the heart of Kesh, the largest known to us. Armies on parade during high holiday, marching past a review stand; city garrisons larger than the King’s Army of the West.’
Algon said, ‘Still, there is nothing to say they are not from’ – he paused, as if the admission were difficult – ‘across the Endless Sea.’ That prospect seemed to trouble him less than the notion of some place not of this world.
Tully looked irritated at the interruption. ‘There is more, much more. I followed him through his dreams, many of his homeland. He remembers creatures unlike any I have heard of or seen, things with six legs that pull wagons like oxen, and other creatures, some that look like insects or reptiles, but speak like men. His land was hot, and his memory of the sun was of one larger than ours and more green in color. This man was not of our world.’ The last was said flatly, removing from all in the room any lingering doubts. Tully would never make a pronouncement like that unless he was certain.
The room was silent as each person reflected on what had been said. The boys watched and shared the feeling. It was as if no one were willing to speak, as if to do so would seal the priest’s information forever in fact, while to stay silent might let it pass like a bad dream. Borric stood and paced over to the window. It looked out upon a blank rear wall of the castle, but he stared as if seeking something there, something that would provide an answer for the questions that spun in his mind. He turned quickly and said, ‘How did they get here, Tully?’
The priest shrugged. ‘Perhaps Kulgan can offer a theory as to the means. What I construct as being the most likely series of events is this: the ship foundered in the storm; the captain of the ship and most of its crew were lost. As a last resort this Great One, whoever he is, invoked a spell to remove the ship from the storm, or change the weather, or some other mighty feat. As a result, the ship was cast from its own world into this, appearing off the coast at Sailor’s Grief. With the ship moving at great speed on its own world, it may have appeared here with the same movement, and with the westerly blowing strong, and little or no crew, the ship was driven straight onto the rocks. Or it simply may have appeared upon the rocks, smashed at the instant it came into being here.’
Fannon shook his head. ‘From another world. How can that be possible?’
The old priest raised his hands in a gesture of mystification. ‘One can only speculate. The Ishapians have old scrolls in their temples. Some are reputed to be copies of older works,
