Volna the Beautiful
B
ram Forest had been day-dreaming.
Ylia? Hadn't Ylia been calling his name? But how that be? Ylia was almost two hundred miles away. Clearly, as long as they the magic away from him, he see Ylia again. And besides, now that he had been a of his mother, the queen of Ofrid, and now that that had up the entire past for him, why was it that when he his and allowed the sun to on the through the window he saw an image of the sun-browned maid, Ylia?
Could it be, he asked himself, if somehow he were the memory of the mother he had known, that Ylia not for the past but for the present and the future, and that it was in the present and the unknown that Bram Forest must live and do his life's work and perish, although he was from the past?
A food on a tray. The door open, the was delivered, the door shut. The did not pay particular attention to Bram Forest: he had been a prisoner.
Ylia, he thought.
He he must next time the food.
Dr. Slonamn up the with the metal on it and at the contraption. He was a psychologist, he himself an expert on metallurgy. Still, he had a metal like that from which the had been fashioned. It too for steel, too hard for silver. A and alloy, then? But he had of a and alloy.
He it up to the light. Like a fly's many-faceted it images of—himself. Somehow, it him to at the images. He his away and had an to the away across the room.
The sun was going down. He a from the prison as the was prepared. Tomorrow, he thought, should see the of his work here. Another with the who had the disc, perhaps. The him.
He looked at it again. He didn't want to, and the himself. Then, he it, he was at his image again. His swam. There was a far-away like—the came to his mind from a by Kipling—like the wind that the worlds. He again at the disc. It to him, as a iron filings. Now he wanted to it, wanted to with every of his strength. A of over him, in its wake. He at the prison-office for support. The louder.
He saw—or he saw—a girl, a lovely, sun-bronzed girl. There was a look of on her face. She to be out for help.
An his feet, his very soul. He despite himself to into the abyss, the might be. He back, the longing. Yet he he wouldn't win. He took a step forward....
"Give it to me!"
The voice, urgent, distant, him to reality. It a great off, but it was something to which he hold.
"Give me that disc!"
He himself back, saw the retreating. The of the wind the worlds distant, a than heard.
"Give it to me!"
He blinked. The had over him. He weak, drained, exhausted. But the of the prison office him.
The him, the which the on his powerful arm. A look of was on his face. His skin was with although it was in the room.
"What did you do to the guard?" Dr. Slonamn asked, if the would him.
"He'll be all right. I only him. I'm sorry. It was necessary." The spoke in haste. His were clouded, dreamy, as if he had taken an of barbituates.
"What are you going to do?"
"You saw? In the disc?"
"Yes," said Dr. Slonamn.
"I'm going. It's my home."
The took a step forward, then to stagger.
"Your home?" Dr. Slonamn gasped. "Your home?"
The giant, who had his name to the prison as Bram Forest, did not answer. Dr. Slonamn out, as if to him. Bram Forest there, a and the of pain for of his face.
Dr. Slonamn as if struck. His hand had passed through Bram Forest's body.
Staggering, trembling, Dr. Slonamn for support on the desk. He see through Bram Forest now. See through him entirely.
A cold wind, like no wind on Earth, touched him. He shuddered.
When he looked again, Bram Forest was gone....
"Retoc the Abarian!" the seneschal's voice proclaimed.
An passed through the of in the chamber. Retoc, ruler of Abaria, did not often visit Nadia. A of Abaria and Nadia of the ice fields. Nadia alone of the many nations of Tarth had in some to that of black Abaria, but then, if a came the two nations, the issue would be in doubt.
As a of diplomacy, Retoc had been to the of Prince Jlomec, although neither Bontarc, ruler of Nadia, his sister, Volna the Beautiful, had he would come.
While the about in their white garments, Retoc told the seneschal: "I wish an audience with the Princess Volna."
The was quiet. Volna the Beautiful, haughty, imperious, of the blood, would to see the Abarian ruler. Nevertheless, the low, said, "Your will be to the staff of the household, lord," and a hanging.
Some time later, in another part of the palace, Bontarc was saying: "Volna, Volna, to me. You can't see that man now."
"I'm going to see him," Volna the Beautiful told her brother. "So it may not be said that a of the blood in a of tragedy."
"But sister! With dear Prince Jlomec still not on the which will him the River of Ice on the final from which—"
"Please, brother," Volna said a little coldly. "I'm going to Retoc his audience. Don't you understand? He thinks me by Jlomec's death. Oh, I loved the Prince, yes. He was always so—so and from of state. But I can be if I have to be."
"Then you won't your mind?" Bontarc asked. He was a man by nature. The paths of he set on only with reluctance.
For answer Volna said: "Let me prepare to the visitor." And she Bontarc her quarters.
At once she her hands. Six through the into her and while they about her like so many birds, she the at her left and allowed her of white to in a at her feet. She and perfectly still while the to her, each girl a master in one of the arts. And Volna, she of the and body, she who already had been to look upon, was soon by the into the woman the Tarth had since the Queen Evalla.
Her to the queen of Ofrid as the her again in the garment. Evalla, a woman with to match Volna's, had the most powerful nation Tarth had known. Then, Volna smiled, why not another such woman, with hands enough, and clear enough, to the of power and drink of its brew?
"Retoc," she was saying a moments later.
She her hands. The in waiting withdrew, giggling.
"Volna, Volna," said the big Abarian ruler. "You are glorious. Every of the from the Plains of Ofrid across the ice of Nadia, I for you." He came very close to her. His her vision, a hard, strong, with the of a sadist. Fitting for a woman who would the world? His parted....
Volna, smiling, her hand over his mouth.
"Then let me put out the fire," she said coolly, "for we have much to discuss."
"But Princess, I—"
"Hush. And what, exactly, were you doing on the Plains of Ofrid?"
Retoc's big red. Then, when he saw Volna was still smiling, he said: "When we met last, you mentioned that two men you and the of Nadia."
"Yes?" said Volna, him, with the light her sending its through the white and the of her body.
"Jlomec is dead," Retoc said simply.
Still smiling, Volna the big man's ringingly. Retoc back, startled.
"Fool!" Volna hissed. "I can call the guards. I can have you slain."
"But I—"
"I did not say I was not pleased. But don't to me. That isn't why you my brother. Well, man, is it?"
Retoc his head. Only in his there was fury. "We'll make a pair, Volna, you and I," he said passionately.
"Is it?"
Retoc his slowly.
"You see? I it. I it was you when they told us Jlomec had been slain, and yet I know you and know too how you are quick to passion, I told myself you had not done it I had it to you. Fool. Can I trust such as you?"
"Only Bontarc you and empire. And Bontarc is a man."
"As you are a man."
"Yet you need me, Volna. You need the of my arm—and my army. What a pair we'll make!"
Volna into the of his big arms and allowed herself to be kissed. Retoc for her. He had said so. All men for her, she that. And, she was finished, every man of Tarth would at her and call her Queen.
Retoc finally, hard. Volna had for him only a cool, smile.
At last he said, "There are some who might say Retoc of Abaria killed the prince."
"Dolt! Were you seen?"
Retoc as if it were not important. "A of on the Ofridian Plain. They were so frightened, they at once. After I had the white giant."
Volna's suddenly. "There was someone else? You did not kill him?"
"I to. He escaped, Princess."
"Then you are more a than I thought."
"But I—"
"Begone! We can't be together too much. Take in Nadia City, and let me know where you are. You understand?"
"Yes, Princess."
She allowed him to her hand, then he withdrew. A moments later, at her summons, the appeared. Subtly her had changed. No longer was she the and princess. Instead, she was a sister, brother's still in in the palace.
The seneschal, name was Prokliam, obsequiously. He that by the of a Nadian the River of Ice in the company of two servants—one man and one woman—who would with him in the Place of the Dead. He also that he had been Jlomec's and now in that the Princess Volna would that he, Prokliam, must his master on the Journey of No Return, to him in death as he had him in life.
"Yes, lady?" the Prokliam asked.
"Bontarc, our king, for the prince," Volna said.
"All Nadia for Jlomec, lady," Prokliam said, and added hastily: "Although I must admit I do not more than the next man. No, no, it is a mistake to think I was Jlomec's favorite."
"Be that as it may Bontarc so that for a while at least some of the of will be in my hands."
"I and lady."
"Good. If anyone comes—anyone at all, from Ofrid or others—with news of how Jlomec died, they are to be at once to me. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my princess." Prokliam the low once more.
"Serve me well in this, Prokliam, and you will be in measure."
Prokliam smiled. "I will be the of discretion," he said boldly, his old gums.
"Then I will still the that you were the Jlomec's favorite."
Prokliam at the and touched his to the toes. Then he out of the room.
Volna for many moments at her in the mirror. Queen, she thought. She said it aloud:
"Queen Volna."
