Imperial Stars 3-The Crash of Empire (38 page)

"All right, you two," he ordered. "Let's be at it. This stick's got to be set sometime today. Man says they're going to be needing it."

The workers went about their duties mechanically, paying no attention to their surroundings and showing no suspicion of awareness of the watcher above them. Carlsen frowned in distaste.

Public executions
, he decided.
Pretty savage about it, too.
He examined the buildings surrounding the plaza, then flicked at a series of switches. A swarm of beetlelike objects appeared, then swung about the plaza, dispersed, and disappeared through openings in the various buildings. Carlsen rotated a selector, examining the viewsphere. Finally, he stopped to study an interior view. The telltale was high on the wall.

The high-ceilinged room was almost square. Rough stone walls were partly hidden by draperies. Overhead, rough rafters formed a grid in the plaster of the ceiling. At one end of the room, on a raised part of the stone flooring, a group of men sat behind a heavy table. Carlsen looked at them curiously.

Two were enveloped in drab, gray robes whose texture belied their apparent austerity. Both wore ornate rings and one had a heavily jeweled amulet.

Bet there's some mighty nice tailoring under those robes
, Carlsen told himself. He looked at the other three men.

They were richly dressed, their clothing bearing small resemblance in either cut or material to the coarse cloth worn by the farmer and the workmen. They were leaning forward, listening attentively to the robed man with the jeweled amulet.

The telltale was too small to handle psionic overtones. For a time, Carlsen listened to the man's harangue, then he turned and got out another stubby cylinder.

I need to know what this fellow's thinking about
, he told himself.
What he's saying may make sense to those people, but it's so far from reality, I can't get much out of it.

He locked the spyeye to the telltale, launched it, and waited till it was in position. The beetle was clinging to a fold in one of the drapes.

Better anchor this thing to the ceiling, I'd say. No one'll stumble over it there.
He snapped switches and sat watching the presentation.

"I get it," he finally said aloud, "but I don't get the sense. Demons! Sorcery, yet! And this bum's actually more than half convincing these guys, even though he doesn't really believe much of it himself." He leaned back.

"Well, maybe I'll get something to collate with this from the rest of the team."

He grabbed a lever switch and held it back.

"Cisner?"

"Here, Chief." A tanned face appeared in one of the screens.

"Got anything yet?"

"Yes, sir. I've bugged a sort of palace down this way. Got a spyeye or two around town, too." The man shrugged. "Chief, some of these people are nothing but psycho. And the local archduke is the worst of the bunch. He's been so badly suckered, he eats . . . Chief, you'll have to see the whole run to believe it."

Carlsen nodded. "I think I know what you mean. Demons. Sorcery. Witches who prey on their neighbors?"

"That's it, sir. Couple of these vultures don't believe the guff they're selling, but a couple more do. They're all pushing it, though. People? Some of 'em swallow it whole, some of 'em aren't so sure and a few of them think it's a bunch of bunk. But no one's got the nerve to ask foolish questions."

"Well, get full coverage. I think we'll have to do something about this. Out." Carlsen hesitated, then pushed the switch again.

"Waler?"

Another face appeared.

"I've caught a kind of university, Chief. Lecturer was giving them the lowdown on demonology." Waler grinned lopsidedly. "This guy's really sold. He's even had wild dreams of his own. He's got some sort of intestinal parasite. Pretty toxic and he's subject to delirious nightmares." He frowned.

"He's a good talker, but some of his students still aren't sure. They're just wondering how they can learn all the patter and get by their examinations."

"Oh, me! Every culture needs leaders like that! Any of them psionically sensitive?"

"Yeah. Several of'em. They're the skeptics."

"Makes sense. Look, Waler, see if you can get spyeyes in some of the other lecture rooms. Try to psi bug a few student hangouts, too."

"Will do, sir. Oh, they don't have lecture rooms. These profs do their teaching at their homes, most of them. Few use rooms in some tavern."

"So bug their homes and the taverns. Got enough eyes?"

"Couple dozen."

"Should do it. Incidentally, I've picked up some of that same stuff here in Varsana. There's a theocratic Chief Examiner named pen Qatorn. He hasn't been here too long, but he's got the locals scared to death and he's holding trials. Well, we'll see what else we get. Then we can figure out what we have to do, if anything. Out."

Wysrin Kanlor abruptly reined up his mount and sat staring at a patch of wide leaves, sickly yellow against the deep green of the field.

Lizard weed
, he growled.
I knew I should have checked up here before.
He looked at the patch, estimating its size, then headed his beast back to the barn.

It'll take a while to burn that patch out
, he mused.
It'll be no town fair for me today, or maybe tomorrow, either.
He gathered tools, hitched the
garn
to a water wagon, and drove back.

The weeds burned furiously at first, then became a mass of smoldering embers. A thick, yellow column of smoke rose into the still air, spread, then drifted lazily away. Kanlor leaned on his shovel, watching. There had been a few bad moments when the drenching he had given the grass had failed and the blaze had threatened to leap out into the pasture, but fast work with the shovel had prevented disaster. Fortunately, the weeds hadn't reached maturity, so no flaming seeds had sprung out. And he'd seen no trace of the vicious
yarlnu
lizards. He looked back at his herd, which had drifted away from the blaze.

Well, none of them are on the ground. I guess the patch wasn't ripe enough for 'em to try eating it.
He moved his shoulders uneasily, then waved a hand by his face. For a few days past, something had been nearby—something that kept watching him closely. But he had never been able to see— He looked about, then up into the clear sky. There was nothing. He shrugged, then looked across the fields at another column of smoke. Black mixed with the yellow.

Delon Mord's place. Looks as though he had to burn, too.
He studied the smoke column critically.
It's spread and he's got a grass fire.
He looked at the glowing embers behind him, then busied himself in putting them out.

Finally, he drove the water wagon away from a black mass of mud and lifted his saddle from it.

It would be well to ride over and see if Mord needed help. In this dry season, a grass fire out of control could spread and destroy several farms. He saddled the
garn
and swung up. In fact, given a wind, the whole plateau could become a sea of flame.

By the time Kanlor got to Mord's property, several other farmers had arrived. The fire was blazing across a pasture and flames were licking at the trees on a hedgerow. Men were filling buckets and passing them to wet down the foliage. A few men were hurriedly throwing dirt on advancing flames. Kanlor grabbed his shovel from a saddlebag and joined them.

Delon Mord had been rushing about, shouting directions at the fire fighters. He dashed up to Kanlor and seized his arm.

"Never mind that," he shouted. "There's plenty of men here. Go over and help those fellows on the buckets. Those are valuable trees."

Kanlor shrugged him off. "Why don't you help them, then? An overseer's just what we don't need right now. It's your fire, so why not help put it out?"

Mord backed away. "Gotta be somebody takes charge."

Kanlor threw another shovelful on the flames before him. "Well, take charge somewhere else and quit pestering me. I'm busy."

Mord looked angrily at him, started to speak, then dashed away to scream advice at the bucket brigade.

At last, the fire was contained and burned itself out. A pasture had been burned out completely and most of an adjoining field was a waste of smoking ash, but the danger of widespread fire was over. Men put away their tools and gathered in groups. One bent down to crumble soil between his fingers.

"Dry," he commented. "All the farms are drying out this season. Else we get some rain, we'll have thin crops this year. And I hate to think of burning out any more weed patches." He looked at Kanlor. "You don't seem to be having any trouble, though. Your place is green as in a good year."

Kanlor nodded. "It's those wells of mine," he said. "I run water on my fields when the rains fail."

The other shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Nice for you, but who else has all that water to spare?"

"You could dig more wells."

"Oh, to be sure. I've nothing but time. And who's to do my regular farm work while I spend my days heaving dirt?"

"My father and I did it," Kanlor said quietly, "several years ago."

"Yeah." The man turned away. "That was several years back. It's right now I've a family to feed." He kicked at the ground. "Besides, how am I to know I'll have your luck and hit water every time I dig?"

Kanlor watched the man walk away.
We didn't
, he remembered.
There're quite a few dry holes we filled in. And it's precious little time we spent in the village, too.
He walked toward his
garn
, then turned as he heard Mord's loud voice.

"It's just not fair," the man was saying. "I come out to the pasture day after day and there's nothing amiss. Then this morning, there's this big weed patch. Bunch of lizards in it, too." He waved an arm. "Look, bull's dead of a lizard bite. Two cows all bloated up from eating the filthy leaves, I'll probably lose them, too. And then this fire runs wild. How's a man to . . ."

Kanlor turned away and climbed into his saddle. He looked back at the group wearily. It took time, he knew, for lizard weed to grow. And it took more time for the poisonous
yarlnu
to find a patch and nest in it. He looked back at the scanty stand of grain in what was left of Mord's field. The man's voice carried to him.

"I tell you, it's black sorcery. Witchcraft, that's what it is—a spell on this land of mine."

Kanlor rapped his heels into the
garn
's
side.
Of course
, he said to himself.
Sorcery! Evil spells! This past year, there's more and more talk of it. No man really believes the tales till he needs an alibi. When a man lets his fields go, spends his time chasing about the village, goes to every fair down at Varsana, then it's a black spell that causes his farm to go down.
He turned his face toward his own holdings.

Moren pen Qatorn, Chief Examiner for the Duchy of Varsan, leaned forward and cupped his chin in his hands.

"And you say this man has cast repeated spells in your neighborhood?"

Delon Mord looked up at him eagerly. "Yes, my lord. Why only a few days ago, he caused a large patch of lizard weed to grow in my pasture overnight. And somehow, by a black spell, he brought
yarlnu
lizards to infest it." He drew his mouth into a downward curve and spread his hands.

"My cattle were poisoned and one bitten. They died, to my great loss."

"And you say it was this"—pen Qatorn glanced at his secretary's notes—"Wysrin Kanlor who caused this misfortune to you?"

Mord nodded eagerly. "Oh, to be sure, sir. Soon after I started burning the patch off, Kanlor made as if to burn weed on his own property. It was right after that when my fire blazed up and fired the whole field." He peered at the Examiner cunningly.

"They say this is the way the sorcerers work. They take something like that which they would destroy, and—"

Pen Qatorn sighed impatiently. "Yes, yes. We are quite familiar with the workings of black magic. We know about these hopelessly damned sorcerers, and with the demons who are their masters." He looked down sternly.

"This, then, is your story? To be sure, you weren't a bit remiss in the husbandry of your fields? Perhaps you could have been a bit careless in guarding that your flames should not spread?"

"Oh no, sir!" Mord shook his head. "I am careful to look over my fields daily, and to do that which is needful. There was no weed before that morning."

"I see." Pen Qatorn smiled sardonically. "And this, of course, is the only proof you have to show Kanlor's sorcery?"

"Oh no, sir. There is yet more. All this year, my fields and my neighbors' fields have been dry and the crops scant. Only Kanlor's fields remain rich on the whole plateau. His crops are good and his cattle fat. Thus, he will command a high price for his produce while the rest of us grow poor."

"Ah, yes. This may well merit investigation. And you, I believe, are asking just compensation for these losses you claim were caused by the man's sorcery?"

"Yes, my lord." Mord nodded eagerly. "These spells I tell you of have caused me grievous loss."

"I understand. Well, we shall see." Pen Qatorn raised his head and nodded portentiously. "You may go for now. Perhaps we may call upon you later for further evidence." He waved a hand in dismissal, then turned to his secretary.

"What about this man Kanlor?" he asked in a low voice. "Have you anything on him?"

The secretary nodded. "Information is at hand, my lord. Our original survey showed this might be a man to look up." He smiled and flipped a paper from the stack before him.

"Kanlor has five fields and a pasture, not far from the duke's High Keep. His crops have been good for several seasons back. Man's unmarried and lives alone." The man paused, examining the sheet.

"The duke would pay well for those fields, sir. Kanlor has good wells on them—the only really good wells for several farms around. Oh, yes, there's another thing. He's literate. Dropped from the university when his parents died."

"I see. A fit subject for investigation, then. Tell me, is the man well liked in his village?"