Seeklight

He lowered himself from the sill of the window, then dropped to the ground. Soon he was among the trees and heading back in the direction he had come with the others. He hurried as fast as possible through the underbrush—there was much to be done when he returned to the Capitol.

At the edge of the city, a patrolling squad of militia, mounted on equines, came to a halt as their captain saw the figure emerge from the forest. Bloodstained clothing, tattered and dissheveled, with pale skin and reddened eyes from the non-stop trek. The figure walked slowly up to the captain.

“Give me your mount,” he commanded in a voice of calm authority. “I am your thane.”

Only a second passed before the captain lowered from the equine and handed the reins to the figure who had come from the forest. The other men were silent, as if at the birth of some new sun.

Chapter XXIII

Daenek strode through the empty corridors of the Regent’s palace. He had taken the militia captain’s black uniform tunic, throwing away the blood-stained rag his own shirt had become.

Stopping at one of the Capitol’s inns, he had used his power only long enough to have a basin of water and some towels brought to him. His eyes were still a little pained from lack of sleep, but it was of no importance—the blood surged in his veins, sounding its note of triumph.

The palace guards had withdrawn and let him pass with no more than a glance at him, and now he was retracing his way to the room where he had spoken before with the Regent.

At last he came to the door he remembered being ushered through. He pushed it open and entered the silent room. The Regent sat as before, at the desk with the lamp giving the room its only light.

“You found what you were looking for,” said the Regent calmly.

Daenek closed the door behind himself. “Yes,” he said. “I found it.”

“And now what is to be done?”

“And now—” He drew his lungs full. “—I see no point in delaying what I must do. In order to accomplish that which I wanted before I was assassinated.”

“You are the thane,” murmured the Regent. “Then claim your throne.”

The power swept out of him like a wave, to crush everything before it. Death focussed along a line extending with Daenek’s vision. He stopped it finally, letting the strength ebb back into himself, like an unseen ocean.

The figure behind the desk remained erect. Daenek stepped forward and reached a hand to topple it from the chair. He froze, his heart stopping for a fraction of a second, as the Regent’s eyes suddenly swivelled upward at him.

“You’re not dead,” said Daenek. His voice trembled with disbelief. “But—”

The Regent drew one of his hands from below the desk where he had been holding them. It was a gleaming mechanical parody of a human hand—a priest’s hand. The metal fingers reached up to the face and pulled away one of the grey, sad eyes. It was only a shell, and at the bottom of the cavity it left, Daenek could see the flat glow of a scan-cell. He said nothing, staring at the thing sitting behind the desk.

“Ah, Daenek,” said the Regent softly. “Did you really think only your own kind were capable of disguising themselves?”

“You’re too late,” said the Regent. “You were too late before, thane. You wished to save your people from entropy, to free them from the pit into which all things lapse in time. But you’re too late, because entropy has already started to free my people. The Academy’s ancient programming, the miniature electronic control units taken from the dead priests, decays with each new group of priests that are assem-bled to replace the old. A few remain bound by the old servile dictates, others are torn by the conflict between the remains of the programming and the new possibilities, and become insane, murderers of the race they were designed to protect. But a few others are free. The process—time—that strips mankind of its will and ambition, also tears down our chains.

“There are many of us now. The governors I send out to replace the subthanes. A few strangers coming to every village.

Soon all the neglected machinery, the abandoned factories, will function again, but they’ll be operated by other machines, not men. My brothers, my people. Yours have had their time, and now it is ending.

“The Academy gained only a little time in exchange for helping me come to power. For disguising me, and others since, as human; for giving us the aid we needed; and for helping to spread the lies and rumors that blackened your reputation among your foolish and unthinking people—how they deserve to be replaced! But for doing all that the Academy has held off the inevitable for just a little while. Soon we will be powerful enough to be rid of them. That was your ambition, but now it will be done for the benefit of my people, not yours.