Golden Torc - 2 by Julian May

time-travelers a torrent of questions.
    Bryan found himself addressed by a formidable woman in white seated at the right hand of the King. Glorious red hair cascaded from beneath a close-fitting hood of golden fabric with upstanding jeweled wings. "I am Nontusvel, Mother of the Host and wife to the Thagdal. In courtesy I am your Lady, Bryan, and I bid you warm welcome to our Many-Colored Land and company. Now.. .what's this I see? Confusion in you? And perhaps a fear? I would ease that if I might." The power of her smiling un-mothermind was irresistible, strumming his memories like an expert lutanist. A dim control room high in a chateau tower and a face full of sweet rue. Tears at a troubadour's song. And with that chord plucked, segue into another of apple blossoms nightingales moon rising flesh warmth auburn hair and eyes of the haunted sea so fey. And then the dissonant arpeggio. But where Gaston where's she gone where through the damn time-portal into Exile. Here I go Monsieur le Chat into the deep cellar...
    Bryan's festive costume had inner pockets. Without volition, he reached a hand into the one over his breast and handed the durofilm to Queen Nontusvel. She gazed at Mercy's portrait. "You followed her here, Bryan."
    "Yes." I did but see her passing by. Till I die I see her. Nontusvel's metapsychic tendrils came weaving solace and diversion. "But your Mercy is safe, Bryan! Successfully integrated into our fellowship. And so happy! It was as though she had been born for the torc. As though she yearned unconsciously to belong to us and searched us out over the gap of six million years."
    The Queen's eyes were as bright as sapphires, shining with an inner light, for all that they seemed to have no pupils.
    "May I visit her?" he asked humbly.
    "She is in Goriah, in that region you would call Brittany. But she will soon return to our City of the White Silver Plain and then you shall hear her tell of her life among us. And in return for this reunion, will you serve us willingly? Will you help us to gain the knowledge that we require, the insight that may be vital to our survival as a race?"
    "I will do as I can, Exalted Lady. My training has been in the analysis of cultures and the evaluation of intercultural impact and the attendant stresses. I admit that I don't understand completely what you want of me, but I'm at your disposal." Nontusvel nodded her winged golden head and smiled.
    The High King turned from Elizabeth and said to the anthropologist, "My dear son Ogmol will help you coordinate your researches. See him? That high-spirited fellow at the righthand table in the turquoise and silver robe, balancing the wine ewer on his head, the silly twit. There! Now he's done it... Well, even a scholar has a right to celebrate. You'll see his more serious side tomorrow. He'll be your guide. Your assistant, damme! And between the two of you, you'll make sense out of our conundrum before the Great Combat convenes or I'm a no-ball son of a Howler mule!"
    He guffawed hugely and Bryan, overawed, could only think of a particular virile Ghost of Christmas Present he had seen as a child on the Tri-D.
    "If I may ask, King Thagdal, what is the basis for your sovereignty?"
    Both Thagdal and Nontusvel laughed uproariously, the King to the point of coughing. Whereupon the Queen took up a great golden cup and soothed her husband with a draft of honeywine. When the King was restored, he said, "I like that, Bryan!
    Begin at the top with the authority figures. And begin now! Well, it's simple enough, lad. I've got stupendous metafunctions, of course, and I'm a wiz in battle. But my most valued attribute is fertility! More than half of the people in this hall are my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And that's not to count the absent loved ones, eh, Nonnie?" The Queen simpered discreetly. She told Bryan, "My Lord Husband is the father of eleven thousand and fiftyeight, and never a Firvulag and never a black-torc among them.