“What was your purpose in coming to Earth?” I asked.

  “I am obliged only to answer one question,” said Gormon. Then he smiled. “But I give you an answer anyway: I was sent to Earth in the capacity of a military observer, to prepare the way for the invasion for which you have Watched so long and in which you have ceased to believe, and which will be upon you in a matter now of some hours.”

  “Lies!” I bellowed. “All lies!!‘

  Gormon laughed. And drew his hand from the Mouth of Truth, intact, unharmed.

  * * *

  NINE

  Numb with confusion, I fled with my cart of instruments from that gleaming sphere and emerged into a street suddenly cold and dark. Night had come with winter’s swiftness; it was almost the ninth hour, and almost the time for me to Watch once more.

  Gormon’s mockery thundered in my brain. He had arranged everything: he had maneuvered us into the Mouth of Truth, he had wrung a confession of lost faith from me and a confession of a different sort from Avluela, he had mercilessly volunteered information he need“ not have revealed, spoken words calculated to split me to the core.

  Was the Mouth of Truth a fraud? Could Gormon lie and emerge unscathed?

  Never since I first took up my tasks had I Watched at anything but my appointed hours. This was a time of crumbling realities; I could not wait for the ninth hour to come round. Crouching in the windy street, I opened my cart, readied my equipment and sank like a diver into Watchfulness.

  My amplified consciousness roared toward the stars.

  Godlike I roamed infinity. I felt the rush of the solar wind, but I was no Flier to be hurled to destruction by that pressure, and I soared past it, beyond the reach of those angry particles of light, into the blackness at the edge of the sun’s dominion. Down upon me there beat a different pressure.

  Starships coming near.

  Not the tourist lines, bringing sightseers to gape at our diminished world. Not the registered mercantile transport vessels, nor the scoop-ships that collect the interstellar vapors, nor the resort craft on their hyperbolic orbits.

  These were military craft, dark, alien, menacing. I could not tell their number; I knew only that they sped Earthward at many lights, nudging a cone of deflected energies before them, and it was that cone that I sensed, that I had felt also the night before, booming into mind through my instruments, engulfing me like a cube of crystal through which stress patterns play and shine.

  All my life I had Watched for this.

  I had been trained to sense it. I had prayed that I never would sense it, and then in my emptiness I had prayed that I would sense it, and then I had ceased to believe in it. And then by grace of the Changeling Gormon I had sensed it after all, Watching ahead of my hour, crouching in a cold Roumish street just outside the Mouth of Truth.

  In his training a Watcher is instructed to break from his Watchfulness as soon as his observations are confirmed by a careful check, so that he can sound the alarm. Obediently I made my check, shifting from one channel to another to another, triangulating and still picking up that foreboding sensation of titanic force rushing upon Earth at unimaginable speed.

  Either I was deceived, or the invasion was come. But I could not shake from my trance to give the alarm.

  Lingeringly, lovingly, I drank in the sensory data for what seemed like hours. I fondled my equipment, draining from it the total affirmation of faith that my readings gave me. Dimly I warned myself that I was wasting vital time, that it was my duty to leave this lewd caressing of destiny and summon the Defenders.

  And at last I burst free of Watchfulness and returned to the world I was guarding.

  Avluela was beside me, dazed, terrified, her knuckles to her teeth, her eyes blank.

  “Watcher! Watcher, do you hear me? What’s happening? What’s going to happen?”

  “The invasion,” I said. “How long was I under?”

  “About half a minute. I don’t know. Your eyes were closed. I thought you were dead.”

  “Gormon was speaking the truth! The invasion is almost here. Where is he? Where did he go?”

  “He vanished as we came away from that place with the Mouth,” Avluela whispered. “Watcher, I’m frightened. I feel everything collapsing. I have to fly—I can’t stay down here now!”

  ‘Wait,“ I said, clutching at her and missing her arm. ”Don’t go now. First I have to give the alarm, and then—“

  But she was already stripping off her clothing. Bare to the waist, her pale body gleamed in the evening light, while about us people were rushing to and fro in ignorance of all that was about to occur. I wanted to keep Avluela beside me, but I could delay no longer in giving the alarm, and I turned away from her, back to my cart.

  As though caught up in a dream born of overripe longings I reached for the node that I had never used, the one that would send forth a planetwide alert to the Defenders.

  Had the alarm already been given? Had some other Watcher sensed what I had sensed and, less paralyzed by bewilderment and doubt, performed a Watcher’s final task?

  No. No. For then I would be hearing the sirens’ shriek reverberating from the orbiting loudspeakers above the city.

  I touched the node. From the corner of my eye I saw Avluela, free of her encumbrances now, kneeling to say her words, filling her tender wings with strength. In a moment she would be in the air, beyond my grasp.

  With a single swift tug I activated the alarm.

  In that instant I became aware of a burly figure striding toward us. Gormon, I thought; and as I rose from my equipment I reached out to him, wanting to seize him and hold him fast. But he who approached was not Gormon but some officious dough-faced Servitor who said to Avluela, “Go easy, Flier, let your wings drop. The Prince of Roum sends me to bring you to his presence.”

  He grappled with her. Her little breasts heaved; her eyes flashed anger at him.

  “Let go of me! I’m going to fly!”

  “The Prince of Roum summons you,” the Servitor said, enclosing her in his heavy arms.

  “The Prince of Roum will have other distractions tonight,” I said.

  “He’ll have no need of her.”

  As I spoke the sirens began to sing from the skies.

  The Servitor released her. His mouth worked noiselessly for an instant; he made one of the protective gestures of the Will; he looked skyward and grunted, “The alarm! Who gave the alarm? You, old Watcher?”

  Figures rushed about insanely in the streets.

  Avluela, freed, sped past me—on foot, her wings but half-furled— and was swallowed up in the surging throng. Over the terrifying sound of the sirens came booming messages from the public annunciators, giving instructions for defense and safety. A lanky man with the mark of the guild of Defenders upon his cheek rushed up to me, shouted words too incoherent to be understood and sped on down the street. The world seemed to have gone mad.

  Only I remained calm. I looked to the skies, half expecting to see the invaders’ black ships already hovering above the towers of Roum. But I saw nothing except the hovering night lights and the other objects one might expect overhead. “Gormon?” I called. “Avluela?” I was alone. A strange emptiness swept over me. I had given the alarm. The invaders were on their way;; I had lost my occupation!. There was no need of Watchers now.

  Almost lovingly I touched the worn cart that had been my companion for so many years. I ran my fingers over its stained and pitted instruments; and then I looked away, abandoning it, and went down the dark streets cartless, burdenless, a man whose life had found and lost meaning in the same instant. And about me raged chaos.

  * * *

  TEN

  It was understood that when the moment of Earth’s final battle arrived, all guilds would be mobilized, the Watchers alone exempted. We who had manned the perimeter of defense for so long had no part in the strategy of combat; we were discharged by the giving of a true alarm. Now it was the time of the guild of Defenders to show its capabilities. They had planned for half a cycle what they would do in time of war. What plans would they call forth now? What deeds would they direct?

  My only concern was to return to the loyal hostelry and wait out the crisis. It was hopeless to think of finding Avluela, and I pummeled myself savagely for having let her slip away like that, naked and without a protector, in that confused moment. Where would she go? Who would shield her?

  A fellow Watcher, pulling his cart madly along, nearly collided with me. “Careful!” I snapped.

  He looked up, breathless, stunned. “Is it true?” he asked. “The alarm?”

  “Can’t you hear?”

  “But is it real?”

  I pointed to his cart. “You know how to find that out.”

  “They say the man who gave the alarm was drunk, an old fool who was turned away from the inn yesterday?”

  “It could be so,” I admitted.

  “But if the alarm is real—!”

  Smiling, I said, “If it is, now we all may rest, Good day to you Watcher.”

  “Your cart! Where’s your cart?” he shouted at me.

  But I had moved past him, toward the mighty carven stone pillar of some relic of Imperial Roum.

  Ancient images were carved on that pillar: battles and victories, foreign monarchs marched in the chains of disgrace through the streets of Roum, triumphant eagles celebrating imperial grandeur. In my strange new calmness I stood a while before the column of stone, admiring its elegant engravings. Toward me rushed a frenzied figure whom I recognized as the Rememberer Basil; I hailed him, saying, “How timely you come! Do me the kindness of explaining these images, Rememberer. They fascinate me, and my curiosity is aroused.”

  “Are you insane? Can’t you hear the alarm?”

  “I gave the alarm, Rememberer.”

  “Flee, then! Invaders come! We must fight!”

  “Not I, Basil. Now my time is over. Tell me of these images. These beaten Icings, these broken emperors. Surely a man of your years will not be doing battle.”

  “All are mobilized now!”

  “All but Watchers,” I said. “Take a moment. Yearning for the past is born in me. Gormon has vanished; be my guide to these lost cycles.”

  The Rememberer shook his head wildly, circled around me, and tried to get away. I made a lunge at him, hoping to seize his skinny arm and pin him to the spot; but he eluded me and I caught only his dark shawl, which pulled free and came loose in my hands. Then he was gone, his spindly limbs pumping madly as he fled down the street and left my view.

  I shrugged and examined the shawl I had so unexpectedly acquired. It was shot through with glimmering threads of metal, arranged in intricate patterns that teased the eye: it seemed to me that each strand disappeared into the weave of the fabric, only to reappear at some improbable point, like the lineage of dynasties unexpectedly revived in distant cities. The workmanship was superb. Idly I draped the shawl about my shoulders.

  I walked on.

  My legs, which had been on the verge of failing me earlier in the day, now served me well. In renewed youthfulness I made my way through the chaotic city, finding no difficulties about choosing my route. I headed for the river, then crossed it and, on the Tver’s far side, sought the palace of the Prince. The night had deepened, for most lights were extinguished under the mobilization orders, and from time to time a dull boom signaled the explosion of a screening bomb overhead, liberating clouds of murk that shielded the city from most forms of long-range scrutiny. There were fewer pedestrians in the streets. The sirens still cried out. Atop the buildings the defensive installations were going into action; I heard the bleeping sounds of repellors warming up and saw long spidery arms of amplification booms swinging from tower to tower as they linked for maximum output. I had no doubt now that the invasion actually was coming. My own instruments might have been fouled by inner confusion, but they would not have proceeded thus far with the mobilization if the initial report had not been confirmed by the findings of hundreds of other members of my guild.

  As I neared the palace a pair of breathless Rememberers sped toward me, their shawls flapping behind them. They called to me in words I did not comprehend—some code of their guild, I realized, recollecting that I wore Basil’s shawl. I could not reply, and they rushed upon me, still gabbling; and switching to the language of ordinary men they said, “What is the matter with you? To your post! We must record! We must comment! We must observe!”

  “You mistake me,” I said mildly. “I keep this shawl only for your brother Basil, who left it in my care. I have no post to guard at this time.”

  “A Watcher,” they cried in unison and cursed me separately and ran on. I laughed and went to the palace.

  Its gates stood open. The neuters who had guarded the outer portal were gone, as were the two Indexers who had stood just within the door. The beggars that had thronged the vast plaza had jostled their way into the building itself to seek shelter; this had awakened the anger of the licensed hereditary mendicants whose customary stations were in that part of the building, and they had fallen upon the inflowing refugees with fury and unexpected strength. I saw cripples lashing out with their crutches held as clubs; I saw blind men landing blows with suspicious accuracy; meek penitents were wielding a variety of weapons ranging from stilettos to sonic pistols. Holding myself aloof from this shameless spectacle I penetrated to the inner recesses of the palace, peering into chapels where I saw Pilgrims beseeching the blessings of the Will and Communicants desperately seeking spiritual guidance as to the outcome of the coming conflict.

  Abruptly I heard the blare of trumpets and cries of, “Make way! Make way!”

  A file of sturdy Servitors marched into the palace, striding toward the Prince’s chambers in the apse. Several of them held a struggling, kicking, frantic figure with half-unfolded wings: Avluela! I called out to her, but my voice died in the din, nor could I reach her. The Servitors shoved me aside. The procession vanished into the princely chambers. I caught a final glimpse of the little Flier, pale and small in the grip of her captors, and then she was gone once more.

  I seized a bumbling neuter who had been moving uncertainly.

  “That Flier! Why was she brought here?”

  “He-he-they-”

  “Tell me!”

  “The Prince—his woman—in his chariot—he—he—they—the invaders—”

  I pushed the flabby creature aside and rushed toward the apse. A brazen wall ten times my own height confronted me. I pounded on it. “Avluela!” I shouted hoarsely. “Av… lu… ela… !”

  I was neither thrust away nor admitted. I was ignored. The bedlam at the western doors of the palace had extended itself now to the nave and aisles, and as the ragged beggars boiled toward me I executed a quick turn and found myself passing through one of the side doors of the palace.

  I stood in the courtyard that led to the royal hostelry, suspended and passive. A strange electricity crackled in the air. I assumed it was an emanation from one of Roum’s defense installations, some kind of beam designed to screen the city from attack. But an instant later I realized that it presaged the actual arrival of the invaders.

  Starships blazed in the heavens.

  When I had perceived them in my Watching they had appeared black against the infinite blackness, but now they burned with the radiance of suns. A stream of bright, hard, jewel-like globes bedecked the sky; they were ranged side by side, stretching from east to west in a continuous band, filling all the celestial arch, and as they erupted simultaneously into being it seemed to me that I heard the crash and throb of an invisible symphony heralding the arrival of the conquerors of Earth.

  I do not know how far above me the starships were, nor how many of them hovered there, nor any of the details of their design. I know only that in sudden massive majesty they were there. If I had been a Defender my soul would have withered instantly at the sight.

  Across the heavens shot light of many hues. The battle had been joined. I could not comprehend the actions of our warriors, and I was equally baffled by the maneuvers of those who had come to take possession of our history-crusted but time-diminished planet. To my shame I felt not only out of the struggle but above the struggle, as though this were no quarrel of mine. I wanted Avluela beside me, and she was somewhere within the depths of the palace of the Prince of Roum. Even Gormon would have been a comfort now, Gormon the Changeling, Gormon the spy, Gormon the monstrous betrayer of our world.

  Gigantic amplified voices bellowed, “Make way for the Prince of Roum! The Prince of Roum leads the Defenders in the battle for the fatherworld!”

  From the palace emerged a shining vehicle the shape of a teardrop, in whose bright-metalled roof a transparent sheet had been mounted so that all the populace could see and take heart in the presence of the ruler. At the controls of the vehicle sat the Prince of Roum, proudly erect, his cruel, youthful features fixed in harsh determination; and beside him, robed like an empress, I beheld the slight figure of the Flier Avluela. She seemed in a trance.

  The royal chariot soared upward and was lost in the darkness.

  It seemed to me that a second vehicle appeared and followed its path, and that the Prince’s reappeared, and that the two flew in tight circles, apparently locked in combat. Clouds of blue sparks wrapped both chariots now; and then they swung high and far and were lost to me behind one of the hills of Roum.

  Was the battle raging all over the planet, now? Was Perris in jeopardy, and holy Jorslem, and even the sleepy isles of the Lost Continents? Did starships hover everywhere? I did not know. I perceived events in only one small segment of the sky over Roum, and even there my awareness of what was taking place was dim, uncertain and ill-informed. There were momentary flashes of light in which I saw battalions of Fliers streaming across the sky; and then darkness returned as though a velvet shroud had been hurled over the city. In fitful bursts I saw the great machines of our defense speaking from the tops of our towers; and yet I saw the starships untouched, unharmed, unmoved above. The courtyard in which I stood was deserted, but in the distance I heard voices, full of fear and foreboding, shouting in tinny tones that might have been the screeching of birds. Occasionally there came a booming sound that rocked all the city.