Quite a few of the streets ended in high walls, joining the houses. There were only about thirty streets in the whole city which were not thus protected. Roads led out from these to the surrounding countryside.
Mark and Murf worked like Trojans, deploying their forces where they would do the most good. Jon’s archers and as many of the rebels who could handle a bow were stationed on the rooftops. The rest were placed at the street entrances.
Chains were hastily stretched across between the buildings.
As Erlayok’s formidable force approached it split into a dozen sections. Lacking siege equipment none attempted to assail the walls, but each body stormed the street entrance nearest to it.
Time after time the defenders beat them back. And time after time reinforcements were rushed to some street where too many deaths had weakened the defense.
MARK kept moving from point to point, lending his deadly axe when he spotted places which were weakening. The battle waged for an hour, the invaders not gaining an inch. But the victory was going to Erlayok just the same.
Although his forces were suffering heavily, the dead beginning to pile up at the chained street entrances, the defenders were dying also, though in lesser numbers.
But while Erlayok was holding men in reserve to fill the places of the fallen, Mark’s numbers were strictly limited. Already he was having trouble keeping all the points of assault covered with sufficient men to hold them.
As his no-longer-gleaming axe became slippery with the red creeping up its handle, Mark’s thoughts wandered away from the hopeless battle.
He still shouted meaningless encouragement to the desperate rebels, but fighting had become a mechanical thing. His tireless body and lightning, reflexes protected him from too dangerous wounds. And it wasn’t necessary for him to devote his undivided attention to the business of fighting. His thoughts strayed. Strayed to the one he would probably never see again. Nona.
There was no hope in him any more. The end of his adventure was too clearly discernible in the way the fight was progressing. And as long as these courageous farmers and laborers continued to mock their fate, he knew that he would stay to the end.
And the end would be his end. Erlayok would see to that. The mad noble would carve his body into so many bits that not even a jig-saw puzzle expert would be able to put them together again.
The vision of the lovely Nona danced before him. He saw her now as he used to see her during those mock battles aboard the Viking ship. He smiled as he watched her determined expression, the flowing grace of her beautiful body, the flashing sweeps of the double-bitted axe in her hand...
Chapter 25: Fair Harbor
A LONE figure stood atop the little knoll and gazed toward the west. Eyes shaded from a sun that was low on the horizon, she seemed to be searching, perplexedly. A little while before she had seen a terrific battle in progress at the very place she was now inspecting.
She had been on board a vessel, coming toward the shore, when she had sighted the conflict. A rise of land had hidden it from her as the ship approached a landing. When her vessel had beached she had dashed ashore ahead of her shipmates and climbed to the top of the rise.
But in the interval the battle had finished and none but the dead and dying remained to mark the spot.
She looked beyond the site of the conflict and wondered if the men had vanished into the thick wood she saw there.
Then she turned and saw that all four of the ships of her fleet had beached, and pouring from them were hundreds of huge Viking rovers, all armed with axe and shortsword. These were the fighters she had brought with her, the breed who would rather fight than eat and whose appetites were tremendous.
Proudly she watched them swarm across the beach. They were all men who had rallied at her call, wanting nothing but the opportunity to lay down their lives for her and for her man, Mark. They had even been told that Mark would disapprove of looting in this country, but had come just the same.
As she watched them there came to her sensitive ears faint sounds, shouting, cries of pain, carried on a vagrant breeze. She turned her head, trying to locate the source.
Her eyes chanced on a city in the distance. In landing she had seen this city, but in her anxiety to see if her man was engaged in the battle on the plain, she had forgotten it. But now, looking more fixedly, she saw tiny groups moving toward the dark rectangles formed by gaps between the flat sides of houses and walls. Gaps which were street ends.
Still watching, she saw an occasional tiny flash of light within the shadowed recesses of these rectangles. Flashes such as might be made by stray beams of sunlight reflected on axe and sword-blades.
Suddenly she sprang into action, leaping down from the knoll and running toward her Vikings. In seconds she had the entire band in motion, trotting toward the city.
She sped along before them, not taking her eyes from the scene at its edge.
Getting closer by the minute she made out more and more detail. Occasionally she would get a glimpse of a dented helmet adorned with wings, moving about among the defenders. Then she would lose sight of it, only to see it reappear a hundred yards away, at another of the street entrances.
She led her band directly toward the place where the greatest number of the invaders seemed to be concentrated, for it was there that the winged helmet appeared the more often.
With a wordless roar which had been heard in ancient Copenhagen, the Vikings plowed into the besiegers. Veterans of a dozen battles, every man of them, they made quick inroads into the mass of Erlayok’s men.
AT THE deafening sound of the Norsemen’s battle cry and the clashing of axes which immediately followed, Erlayok wheeled his ponderous mount and urged it to a clumsy gallop. He had been directing the attack on the city at a safe distance from the fighting. But now he suddenly found himself in the thick of it.
The Vikings were boring through his reserves and he was directly in their path!
Frantically he dug his heels into the flanks of his mount, at the same time flaying it with the reins. His one driving impulse was to leave the vicinity with all haste. This battle was already lost, he could see. His men would never be able to stand before these giant Norsemen.
But if he could get clear, there were many thousands of soldiers who could yet be rallied in a second attempt to retake the city. This time he would drag every regiment he could muster from the borders.
He should have done that in the first place, he realized now. But he had been confident that a few thousand soldiers would be sufficient to beat back the poorly equipped rebels and he had returned with the first few regiments he had contacted.
The draft horse he was riding was doing its best to obey his frantic urging and seemed to be getting every last bit of speed out of its ponderous body. The Vikings were pressing nearer, driving through the ranks of Erlayok’s men with little effort.
Actually their advance was far too slow to cut off the flight of the Earl, but to him it seemed that they would be upon him in a few seconds. His horse was thundering away parallel to their advance, and was almost clear when he again flayed at its shoulders with the ends of the rein.
It was a fatal mistake.
One end of the rein flicked momentarily at the horse’s eyes as he made to strike again. At the sudden pain the horse faltered in its stride and reared, throwing off the Earl. He fell heavily, but was on his feet immediately.
Gone now was all thought of flight. He couldn’t get clear if he tried. And with the knowledge he determined to take as many Vikings as possible before one of them got him. But even in this resolve he was thwarted.
His sword was barely clear of its scabbard when a brawny Norseman gleefully cut at him with a battle-axe. The cut landed, cleaving through his helmet as if it were tissue paper, Erlayok went down without striking a blow.
Nona, her axe weaving and slashing with equal effect to that of the brawniest of her Norsemen, fought her way toward the spot where she could see the dented headpiece of he
r husband rising a foot above the head-level of the men he was battling.
As her flashing axe and darting shortsword cleared a path for her she saw his face, grim and sad. He was fighting with the mechanical precision and efficiency of a machine, but by his face his thoughts were far away.
Then his eyes seemed to light on her, as she fought her way closer to him.
She saw the smile that was at once happy and sad, but he still seemed to be moving and seeing in a dream. His axe sheared the arm from one of the invaders, and moved sideways to sink in the neck of another. His body weaved to avoid the lunge of a striking sword and he back-stepped to allow a battle-axe whistle harmlessly past — but the expression remained the same through it all.
THEN it changed — and Nona found herself fighting for her life. She had forged too far into that mass of fighting maniacs. The enemy was on both sides of her as well as to the front. Her body weaved and dodged with desperate rapidity. Her axe slashed and bit deeply. Her sword wove a gleaming wall around her.
But in spite of it she felt the bite of a dagger in the flesh of an arm, and a hammering blow on her helmet. Time after time momentary flashes of pain marked the slice or stab of an enemy weapon.
Wildly her lips formed the word, “Mark!” And with a roar which drowned out all other sound, a fighting avalanche of furious bone and muscle dove at the enemy surrounding her.
They melted in the savagery of the onslaught. In an instant she was gathered in capable arms and raised aloft, carried back away from the din of the fighting.
For a long minute Mark crushed her to him, then released her to hold her at arm’s length. He feasted his eyes for another long silent minute, then frowned.
“Nona — you crazy, wonderful lunatic! Where on earth did you come from?”
She smoothed down an almost non-existent dress and patted his cheek before replying. Her expression was elaborately casual, though her eyes did give her away.
“I knew you’d get in trouble if you were left alone,” she said. “So I gathered some of the boys to help out. You’re so helpless, you know, that...” She couldn’t continue, for her lips had suddenly become very, very busy.
LESS than a month later the four Viking ships were being provisioned for the return voyage to Stadtland. The Norsemen were well satisfied with the results of their little venture. True, they had wanted nothing, but the trip had been profitable nevertheless.
They had been feted in half a dozen cities, and loaded with presents in each. The people of this land had suddenly found that they were in a position to be generous for favors received. The coffers of certain of the nobles who had fought to the last ditch, and whose property had been confiscated as a result, contained wealth in abundance.
Erlayok’s riches alone would have paid for all the damage done in the rebellion.
Furthermore the Brish had found that there was no more need for the swollen armies they had been supporting, and their taxes were going to drop as a result.
Word had gone to the kingdoms to the north and the west, and a permanent peace had been established. Thousands of men were coming from the armies to enter industry of all kinds, and places were being found for them.
And the taxes which were necessary would be borne by a greater number. There would be a long period of industrial reorganization before everything would run smoothly, but during that period no man or woman would suffer. There were vast hoarded sums to carry the government through this period. More than would be needed.
Jon was carrying on, with the enthusiastic cooperation of everyone, as the new king. Smid was elevated to dukedom, and was working as he had always worked, for the betterment of his people. Murf, now admittedly the Mic that he was, remained as the ambassador of his father.
A new era had begun, and Mark’s work was done. At the rail of the flagship as it left the shores of the land of the Brish, Nona looked up and read an uneasiness in his eyes.
“Now, Mark, when you get that look in your eyes. Oh well, I suppose there’s no sense in arguing. More worlds to conquer?”
“Perhaps,” he said, loftily. Then he smiled. “No, that isn’t it. I’ve forgotten something, but I don’t know what it is.”
With a derisive tilt to her eyebrows she surveyed his single garment, and the belt from which hung his axe and a dagger.
“You didn’t have much to start with, if I remember correctly,” she observed.
“No,” he pondered. “It wasn’t anything like that. I believe it’s something I forgot to do. Oh never mind, I’ll think of it sometime.”
As he said this, they suddenly noticed a strange contrivance, on the deck beside them, which hadn’t been there a minute before. It was a table-like affair of spools, wheels, needle and thread. A treadle situated between its feet was oscillating merrily away without visible, means of locomotion. Nona raised a hand to her lips.
“Whatever is that?” she asked through her fingers.
“A sewing machine,” said Mark, resignedly.
At these words, the contrivance vanished and was replaced by a fearsome monstrosity which clanked, snorted and rattled. It was quite large and formidable appearing. Nona’s eyes asked the question.
“A threshing machine,” Mark explained.
There followed a bewildering procession of machines designed for every purpose imaginable, and most of them noisy and awe-inspiring. Nona was beginning to become a bit upset. There came a lull in the squeaking and clattering — an electric fan was humming softly and blowing Nona’s hair at the moment — and Mark explained.
“THIS,” he said, “is Omega’s gentle reminder that I practically blackmailed him into stealing the designs of a certain machine. After which I promptly forgot all about it, and didn’t even stick around to see if he succeeded. Very ill-mannered of me, and he’s letting me know what he thinks about it.”
Abruptly the fan disappeared and Omega revealed himself in his usual caricature of an old man, toothless and decrepit.
“I’ll accept that as an apology,” he said, crisply. “It’s all I’m likely to get. And of course, not so much as a word of thanks.”
“Things were sort of hectic,” Mark said. “What with the revolution breaking out just after I talked to you.” His apologetic expression suddenly left as he thought of the lion he had been confronted with at Omega’s departure on that occasion. “Say at that maybe it’s you who owe me an apology. You’re as absent-minded as I am. That lion might have bitten an arm off me, when you decided to leave.”
Omega chuckled. “I did that for revenge,” he said. “But of course if he had managed to dispose of your arm I’d have given you a new one.”
“Thanks. Well, we’re even then. Where’s the machine?”
“You don’t need it, do you?”
Mark hesitated. “No, not exactly, though it might come in handy some time. I could drive a ship with it, you know.”
“Nothing doing! The race which invented it not only drove ships with it, they did everything with it which required power. And once they had bent it to every purpose it could fulfill, they sat back and enjoyed the fruits of their work. They had a perfect mechanical civilization! Everything they could possibly desire was provided for them.
“But when the time came that their sun was approaching the point where it was about to burst, none of them had intelligence enough to move their planet out of harm’s way. Yet they could have done that little thing if they had still possessed the knowledge that was theirs at the time of its invention.”
Mark got it. “You mean that once they had achieved perfection, they let up?”
“Precisely,” Omega affirmed. “They ceased to improve their minds and those minds stagnated. They had built a machine which usurped a function of their brains. That function still remains to be developed in your own brain, as well as the one which would give you control of telepathy, and you will have to develop them yourself.
“I’m not going to give you that machine! Given time, of which you have plenty, you s
hould be able to master the function which will give you control over the forces of nature. You will learn to transport yourself, by mental action, anywhere you wish. You might even learn to create matter from energy. Crudely, of course. In your lifetime you’ll never be able to learn how to construct living bodies or even good copies. Your descendants will, though. But they never would if I gave you this machine.”
Mark grinned. “All right,” he soothed. “Don’t get all het up about it. I don’t need the machine anyway.”
“So I found out after I came back from my travel in time. I dropped in on some of the leaders of the Mics and the Macs. All they wanted was peace and normal commerce between their respective countries and the Brish. The whole thing was an unnatural condition brought about by the lust for power in Erlayok.
“On one of my visits I overheard a conversation which told me of the status of Murf. So instead of coming back with the machine which you thought you needed, I decided to give you a chance to get things straight. Your horse was very surprised when I forced him to make that turn.”
“You did that?” Mark exclaimed. “Why didn’t you let me know you were there? You could have given me the whole story and saved a lot of time.”
Omega chuckled. “Murf had no trouble convincing you. And besides, I prefer to watch things develop in a more normal manner. I don’t like to go about confounding people.”
“No, of course not,” said Mark.
“Well, we’ve got that settled,” Omega said. “I’ll see you again sometime. So long!”
“So long!”
For sometime after Omega had made his usual abrupt departure, Mark and Nona, arms entwined, gazed out over the endless vista of the swelling sea. In Nona’s eyes was an expression of supreme content and happiness. In Mark’s, there was at first the dancing gleam which reflected his innate spirit of unrest. But as the soothing influence of the swelling billows penetrated, and he became conscious of Nona’s cool, firm flesh hollowed in the crook of his arm, his eyes also reflected the serenity and content which was hers.
The Best of Argosy #6 - Minions of Mars Page 19