Pliocene Exile - The Adversary Part 100

Following the rules, he challenged only the dwarfish or humansized Firvulag. And he always won.

"We think he's the King," Ayfa stated. "Look what a runt he is. And who else would have the effrontery to come onto the field in such an outlandish getup?"

"Aargh!" Finoderee groaned. "He's taken out Shopiltee Bloodguzzler!"

"He doesn't fight fair," Lady Mabino whined. "He should be cutting off the crests with a sword-not unhorsing our lads and la.s.ses and yanking the crests out by the roots!"

"There's nothing in the rules against it," Sharn growled through gritted teeth.

"Look at that scoreboard," Ayfa wailed. "We're ahead in the stalwart category, But that little puke-ort's killing us in the lightweight division. And since we fielded twice as many gnomes as ogres-"

"Yaaak!" mourned Finoderee.

"He got Mimee of Famorel."

"Sweet Te on toast," cried the disgusted Sharn. Gla.s.s carnices blew a musical blast, ending the match. The Tanu grandstand exploded as the semifinal totals were posted on Yosh Watanabe's huge electronic display board.

"Close," Queen Ayfa muttered. "Too d.a.m.n close. The Foe have a whisker's worth of an advantage, but they're sure to run away with the game in the a.s.sent Encounters."

"What are those?" Marc inquired.

Sugoll said, "Bravura performances by the champions of the previous matches. They may be challenged individually by any fighter in the appropriate category."

"They're carrying Mimee off," the Queen moaned. "That wretched Lowlife mountebank snapped poor Famorel's left clavicle like a lark's wishbone. None of our other gnomes will dare face the Bottle Knight."

"May only full-blooded Firvulag enter the lists under your banner?" Marc asked.

The King and Queen stared at him.

Sugoll said, "Technically, any human subject of my city, Nionel, also qualifies as a Little Person. However we are a peaceable folk-both Howler and human citizens alike-and as hosts of the Grand Tourney we have refrained from most of the contests in order to attend to the duties of hospitality."

Marc stood with hands on hips, looking down on the pageantry in the arena with a rakeh.e.l.ly grin. "I don't suppose you'd nominate me an honorary citizen of Nionel, would you, Lord Sugoll?"

"d.a.m.n right he will!" Sharn cried. Then his enthusiasm faltered like a half-inflated balloon. "Do you think you could lick him? No metapsychic powers allowed. But you do look pretty well built-"

"Big-game fis.h.i.+ng. And this jousting seems fairly simple. One merely calculates the appropriate vectors and kinetic reactions.

I presume the contestants may mind-control their mounts."

"Oh, yes," said Sugoll. "That's permissible." He indicated a neat stack of translucent gla.s.s, l.u.s.trous as moonstone and silverchased. "If you wish, you may use my armour and steed."

Still smiling, Marc bowed. "A la bonne heure."

"And I'll be your squire!" the Firvulag King enthused. "Let's go sign you up! You'll need a fict.i.tious name, of course."

"Jack Diamond will do," said the Adversary.

Marc dismounted from his blowing, foam-stained charger, threw down his buckler and lance, and pulled the brave tuft of broomstraw from the ridiculous helmet of the fallen Bottle Knight.

The Firvulag spectators filled the air with jubilant cacophony.

Aiken doffed his headpiece, sketched a sardonic salute, and said, "Well smote, White Knight. G.o.d, what a klop! I feel like I've been in a head-on collision with an impacting asteroid."

Marc raised his visor. "Applied mathematics." He held out a gauntleted hand and courteously hauled his vanquished opponent upright. "I'm afraid the temptation was irresistible."

"I hoped it would be," the King replied.

Marc's right eyebrow rose a millimetre.

Aiken said, "You see, I had to fight in the jousts. Morale.

However, it would never do for Me to get physically creamed by one of the Foe, would it? But a big hulking human is something else." The Trickster's eyes glittered. He gestured at the eruptive horde of gnomish fans who cheered the victorious Firvulag chivalry. "See how happy and confident you've made them feel? They're on top of the world. Invincible! Positive they can whip us Tanu to a fare-thee-well without hardly trying. And without help from talented but possible perfidious Lowlives."

Abaddon sighed. "Very clever." He retrieved his borrowed equipment and remounted to join the winners' parade. "But the time-gate is still closed, isn't it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

"What events are scheduled for tomorrow?"

"The biggie is the tug-of-war," Aiken said. "With minds. No chance for hanky-panky. We'll have to play it straight. At least I will."

"Then the advantage is still to the unG.o.dly," Marc said.

"Tomorrow then." He lifted high his lance, with the crest of the Bottle Knight spitted at the tip, and rode away.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

The rumour mill had been grinding among bareneck and greytorc attendees ever since the Grand Tourney began, with two topics uppermost in the minds of the unprivileged human attendees: the possibility of imminent war, and the possibility of a time-warping escape hatch to the Milieu. It was not until the start of the Fourth Day that the hearsay, innuendo, fear, and suspicion began to find anchorage in undeniable fact.

Item: Twenty-five rhocraft of the Royal Flying Corps took up permanent hover station 4000 metres above the Field of Gold.

(Fresh rumour: a hotshot grey scanner technician maintained that the s.h.i.+ps' guns were trained smack on the Firvulag grandstand!) Item: The encampment of Little People among the trees on the north side of the field, which had welcomed Lowlife visitors during the first three days of the Tourney, was now cordoned off by smiling but resolute ogres.

(Fresh rumour: Howlers as well as humans were being denied entrance because of their dubious loyalty to the Firvulag cause!) Item: King Aiken-Lugonn was absent from the royal enclosure after the first round of duels in the Heroic Manifestation of Power. His lack of regal courtesy did not prevent Bleyn, Alberonn, and Celadeyr of Afaliah from scoring signal victories over Galbor Redcap, Tetrol Bonecrusher, and Betularn of the White Hand, thus putting the Tanu far out in front in the point scoring.

(Fresh rumours: A keen-eyed ex-navigator among the barenecks insisted he had got a fix on the departing flags.h.i.+p of Aiken-Lugonn, and that its vector was a veritable beeline for Castle Gateway! The time-gate was about to open! The timegate device was hopelessly glitched! The King was getting ready to flit to the Milieu! There was not now nor had there ever been a Guderian Project working on a new time-gate!) Item: The Howlers had "withdrawn with the greatest reluctance" from partic.i.p.ation in the crucial tug-of-war game scheduled for that afternoon, pleading the press of duties in overseeing the equipment that would be required for the culminating sporting event of the Tourney.

(Fresh rumours: The Firvulag royals were livid with rage at the defection! Human citizens of Nionel hinted at the secret pact between Sugoll and AikenLugonn that pledged the mutant minds to the Tanu cause! The Hurley/s.h.i.+nty Game to be played on the Fifth Day was nothing more nor less than an exotic version of Gaelic-Rules Football-and any civilized sports fan knew that such contests invariably degenerated into b.l.o.o.d.y free-for-alls! It was going to be the Nightfall opener!) Item: The reclusive mystery woman, Elizabeth Orme, sat in the royal box at the side of an unknown human.

(Fresh rumour: The fellow was none other than Marc Remillard, instigator of the Metapsychic Rebellion, the fabled Adversary in the fles.h.!.+) The morning's events reached their climax, the final match of the Heroic Manifestations of Power. The Howler field attendants pumped up the bellows, making the fountains of fire stretch sky high, and pour forth commingled black and rose-coloured smoke. The monstrous iron chevaux-de-frise in the midst of the flames glowed white-hot. Gla.s.s trumpets sounded a fanfare, kettledrums thundered, and then the Marshal of Sport made his amazing announcement: "The Tanu hero Kuhal Earthshaker, scheduled to contend in this final Manifestation against the Firvulag Battlemaster Medor, has withdrawn."

A mighty roar of disappointment arose from the Tanu partisans. The Little People cheered roundly and the bookmakers scrambled in a frenzy to cope with the last-minute scratch.

The Marshal declared: "By consent of the Committee of Referees, Lord Kuhal's place will be taken by Minanonn the Proud, also called Heretic, former Battlemaster of the Tanu."

Now tumultuous jubilation seized the Tanu and human spectators while the Firvulag hooted, hummed derisively, and shapes.h.i.+fted into obscene illusory forms to express their vexation.