by Ernst Vlcek
But there was no more use demanding that of him than it would have been to ask him to take off his skin.
Ice Claw and I supported each other as we went along, which was more to my benefit than his because his body felt pleasantly cool.
“Do you hear it, Atlan?” asked Ice Claw.
“The humming?”
“Yes.” Now we are goners! The web is beginning to vibrate again… the singing is in the air…!”
“Fools!” Fratulon snapped at us without turning around. “That’s only the wind playing through those strands!”
I shook my head doubtfully, although he couldn’t see me. Ahead of us rose a strange but somehow familiar structure. The silvery strands no longer seemed to exist. I tore myself away from Ice Claw and hurried my steps, finally overtaking Fratulon.
The strange image loomed before me from the desert like a mountain of bronze. It was not especially high, but nonetheless gigantic. Its profile was that of an obtuse triangle, 10 kilometres long and 6 kilometres wide. I knew that massive pile by heart, because from my present position I would not have been able to thus observe its architectural dimensions.
“Tarkihl!” cried Ice Claw.
So it was the beginning of another mirage. It was the peculiar subtlety of the silvery strands not to produce frightening visions but rather to entice us with the visions of secret desire. Thus they were magically materializing the palace of Tarkihl for us out of the desert sands. It lay there in the rays of the setting sun, glowing with the colour of solid, unworked bronze. Its countless dome like protrusions threw long shadows onto the desert.
“We’ve made it!” I heard Fratulon exclaim in triumph.
I hastened my pace still more. If I was to be the victim of an illusion, then I should not be denied the vision of Farnathia, as well. I wished for her. With every fibre of my will I sought to conjure her there. But the silvery strands did not materialize her out of the desert.
Instead, the humming and vibrating created a troop of soldiers.
I came to a halt.
This was no illusion. The images were too real. The soldiers had the right proportions in relation to their surroundings and they produced sounds that matched their movements in an exact formation.
This was reality.
We had actually made it. But for some reason I experienced no elation about it.
The soldiers came to a stop in front of us. They were all tall, imposing Arkonides who wore the uniforms of the Tattos’ Palace Guard.
Their commanding officer stepped in front of Sawbones. “Fratulon, physician to the Tatto, Armanck Declanter, I arrest you in the name of Orbanoshol the Third! I shall expect you to offer no resistance and to conduct yourself in a manner that will do credit to a man of your station.”
“Resistance? Conduct?” said Fratulon critically. He knew he was too weak for either a proper defence or even acceptable comportment. He swayed slightly, vacillating for a moment, but when he finally addressed the leader of the troop guards his gaze was firm. “Who issued the order for my arrest?” he inquired.
The guard officer hesitated, but then he controlled himself and answered in a confidential tone: “A confidant of the Imperator has arrived at the palace. He has full authority here. It’s this one who put out the warrant for your arrest. You will follow us now, Fratulon.”
The Tatto’s crack bodyguards surrounded Sawbones and marched away with him toward Tarkihl. Ice Claw and I were left behind, completely disregarded. And I was too stunned to even collect my wits about me. Everything had happened with such surprising swiftness.
Fratulon put under detention? For what reason? What had he done?
I could not comprehend it all.
But I was determined to find out. I took Ice Claw’s crystalline arm and followed the soldiers to Tarkihl.
Whatever may have happened, old Sawbones could count on me!