Efil sat his horse calmly. He looked very pale beside the sun-darkened Catswold woman. He said, “The boy who travels with Siddonie is not her son nor mine. The boy is a changeling. He was brought by Siddonie from the upperworld.” The Catswold folk shifted and glanced at one another but no one spoke. Efil said, “Soon I will produce Wylles. I will show you the two boys side by side. Meantime, hear your queen. She is not only Catswold queen but queen of promise of Affandar. Hear the plan we have structured.”
Helsa waited for their full attention. Her creamy voice carried as insidiously as a breeding cat’s rich mewl. “I have promised Queen Siddonie that I will lead you with my own band of upperworld Catswold to fight beside her. I have told her that together we will defeat the rebel bands.”
Her voice softened to a haunting murmur. “We join with Siddonie’s armies on the battlefield. And then,” Helsa said, her hands curving as if she made claws, “we will turn on them. We will destroy Siddonie’s troops and destroy Siddonie. We will kill her and free the Netherworld.”
There were nods among the Catswold. But again the priests glanced at one another. Helsa watched them and smiled, and raised her fist. “One hour.”
And as she turned away, one among the crowd said, “My name is Oeden the Black.” And another said, “I am Galvino Grayleg.” Helsa turned back and nodded, smiling at them because they had given her, by such greeting, admission of their belief and fealty.
When Helsa had gone to rest, the Catswold moved about their hasty chores, their eyes meeting slyly at the lies their men had been able to speak to this false queen. If, while wearing the Amulet, she could not detect lies, then she was not of queen’s blood and likely the amulet was as false as she.
Yet quickly they made their final preparations for war, readying supplies, inspecting horses and equipment. King Efil moved among them, greeting one then another. He spoke for a long while with the Catswold priests. He did not notice an occasional cat slip away between the robes of its companions; he had no notion that three dozen cats left the ranks of the preparing warriors.
Helsa was escorted to the most luxurious apartments to rest. She was led through the honeycomb of pale stone bowers and grottoes to a high tower, to a chamber walled in white marble and carpeted with embroidered cushions. She took off the outer, ceremonial robe of gold lamé, and in her transparent gold shift she stretched out on the damask covers of an ornate bed. She did not change to cat. Glancing above her at the high, small alcove lined with silk, she studied the true bed of the apartment’s occupant. The alcove looked deliciously comfortable, but she did not intend to abandon her human form. She lay relaxed, stretching, thinking with satisfaction of the web she and Siddonie had woven.
She had told the Catswold she would pretend to join Siddonie, then destroy her. Efil, too, believed this. The fool thought he would remain king. He thought he had charmed her, won her. Only Siddonie knew that Helsa would, in truth, lead the Catswold to be slaughtered. Plan and counterplan, lie and counter lie wove an intriguing tangle.
She smiled, warm with Siddonie’s promise. Her tough street loyalty had been securely won during Siddonie’s three visits to the upperworld ranch. She respected Siddonie; the queen was strong. Soon she would ride by Siddonie’s side as her disciple, and when Siddonie died she would be heir to the throne of Affandar and to all the thrones of the Netherworld, for surely in this war they would win every nation. When Siddonie died, she would be queen of the Netherworld.
She slept briefly and lightly, hearing every sound near the chamber. She woke and lay supine for a moment, then flipped up, drew on the gold robe, adjusted the hood, belted on her sword, and was prepared to ride.
Chapter 68
The army moved out of Zzadarray with Netherworld Catswold and upperworld Catswold riding side by side. The upperworld horses were several hands taller than those of Zzadarray, and the upperworld Catswold were edgy, predatory, and impatient. The mixed band moved quickly down the steep ridges heading for the valley and the mountains beyond, making directly for the valley of Cressteane.
But not all Helsa’s troops were with them. A cadre of mounted San Francisco street rabble waited unseen in the forest, and when only the old folk and children remained in Zzadarray these riders stormed the city with the violence born of Siddonie’s training. They ransacked the chambers for jewels, tore at the walls of the buildings, cudgeling and breaking the soft stone. They were primed to kill and torture, but they found no Catswold—the city was deserted. The old and the frail had turned to cats and vanished into the forest. Then suddenly out from the forest rode three dozen Zzadarray Catswold armed with bows and with heavy, spell-cast swords.
Soon on the streets of Zzadarray, Siddonie’s soldiers lay dead.
