“Tell me no lies, Master of the Second Level. You have one chance for life and one only. Where is the Central Vault? Where are the records kept? You have only a second between yourself and eternity.”
The Unclean officer might have fought in open combat. He was evil but not a complete craven. But being suddenly assaulted by the awful catfolk, being stripped, and having his disguise and his shield removed in public-—all this was too much. With a sob, he prostrated himself at the feet of Hiero.
“Mercy!” He embraced Hiero’s sandals until the priest spumed him away.
“You shall have life as long as not one lie crosses your dirty lips. Answer my questions.”
It was better than might have been hoped. Though no adept, the wretched man had been third in command of the city’s military force and he knew much. With a rope around his neck, he led the squad, Hiero, and the catfolk to a small door, sunk in the side of a nearby stone tower. They had to force the lock. Then, as Hiero had expected, they found themselves at the top of a winding stair. Worn and slippery steps led down into darkness.
The party waited for a moment while torches were procured, and then, with the prisoner in the lead, they began to file downward, weapons held at the ready. Down wound the stairs and down. There were landings, but no doors issued off them. Down, until Hiero knew they were far below ground level. Now bluish fluors appeared, and they crushed out the smoking torches. They had emerged in a damp stone corridor which ran in both directions, off into shadowed distances. The dim blue light of the fluors, set in the ceiling at long intervals, revealed nothing. No one had to be told to keep silence. Hiero prodded the prisoner with his spear point. The gesture was enough, and the man turned to the left and marched numbly off. Silently except for an occasional clink of metal and the faint scrape of leather, the others followed.
They had come a long way and found nothing save emptiness before them when Hiero suddenly halted everyone by raising his left hand. His mind could touch something. With a grimace of disgust, he realized what it was. He led off again at a run, prodding the captive before him ruthlessly. They burst suddenly into a larger room, a great oval, around which were set many barred doors. And the doors were all open. From them came a stench of death and decay which made the entire party retch. One quick glance in each cell was enough. Men, women, even children— here were the choicest captives of the Unclean. All were chained and all were dead. The savage blows and sword cuts which had so recently killed them were in all probability the kindest death they could have asked for after their torment. Hiero had caught the last flicker of a dying brain back down the buried corridor.
“Fresh wounds, sir,” the NCO said. “They must have just got it.”
“Yes, and we’ll follow. Look sharp, now. The tunnel goes straight out the other side. This scum here says that their main Council Chambers are just ahead, so—watch it!”
The few pale chiefs of the Unclean, no more than three in number, who had not been able to flee on the surface, had waited just a little too long to try the secret exit tunnels. Had they not paused in one last spasm of sadistic cruelty to slay the helpless captives in their chains, they might have gotten away. When Hiero and his pack burst into the great room at their heels, they had not yet opened the far door, which was hidden behind an arras. Instead, they were engaged in trying to destroy the great wire screen. Though its moving lights were all dark now, that nerve center of the Yellow Circle was an obsession with them, and they had not realized that a foe so deadly might follow them so soon. Their gray robes dabbled with the blood of their victims, they turned to fight. Their weapons were hardly raised when the Children of the Wind were upon them. Then three limp shapes lay-in their own filthy gore, while Hiero looked about him and tried to imagine what he had found.
X
Of Musterings in the North
The Most Reverend Kulase Demero, Abbot Supreme of the Metz Republic and General-in-Chief of its armies, was a busy man. His lean, bronzed face was worn with care, and he slept little. His temper, never all that equable, was now tinder-dry, and woe betide any hapless subordinate who wasted his time.
At the moment, he was in council and he was having difficulties, both in keeping his temper and in understanding what he simply had to understand. Not for the first nor for the fiftieth time, he wished that Brother Aldo, the Elevener chief and his secret friend and ally for years, were present. The abbot had a fine mind, and so, no doubt, did this being before him, but one was human and the other was not! The abbot could use his mental powers and exchange thoughts as well as any man in the Republic. But only with men!
He sighed and once more tried to grasp what the other was telling him. Charoo, the chief engineer—for want of a better phrase—of the Dam People, was not all that easy to understand.
Charoo was as tall as the old human, even crouching on his haunches, and far vaster in bulk. His blunt, chisel-toothed head was keglike, and the small, short-furred ears were laid back tight against the long skull. He wore no clothes and needed none, being clothed in dark brown, rippling fur from his head to the base of the great, naked, paddle-shaped tail. He waved his clawed hands now, curiously delicate for the great bulk of his body, and his bright, beady eyes glittered as he tried once more to explain his thought to the man. A wave of pungent musk eddied from his body, and Demero managed to avoid coughing only with difficulty. The scent of castor fiiled the small room as it would have one of Charoo’s own lodges out on a distant lake.
Cannot—indescribable—make evil things go away if not—unknown thought—improbable image—water. Water people not—negative something movement—we must—thought of a specific place—negative again—cannot leave. Must be HERE—positive thought now. Silence.
The great, mutated beavers had appeared like many other creatures, soon after The Death. Shy and unaggressive, they had steadily spread over the remote, northern lakes. Slowly, as they occasionally helped stranded hunters or returned lost infants, the people of the Metz learned to respect them, and a system of silent barter had existed in areas where the two cohabited for many years. No Metz would have dreamed of harming one of the Dam People, but they were not exactly friends, either. Each kept to its kind. Humans avoided their lakes out of courtesy, and the great rodents did not frequent the Metz towns. They traded timber and roots for knives, tools, and vegetables, but that was all. That they were highly intelligent was well known, though only recently had it been realized that they had a written language.
It was Abbot Demero, prompted by his Elevener friend, who had made the first overtures and had been well received, since the Brotherhood of the Eleventh Commandment had laid the groundwork. The Unclean had taken to raiding the Dam People in the recent past, and the great creatures had only two things the Dark Brotherhood and their allies wanted. Meat and fur! This made the Dam People natural allies of decent humanity, but the alliance was not easy. They were simply not warlike by nature, and it was very difficult to explain to them what was needed.
They had willingly helped dig the dams and channels to bring the new Republic fleet down to Namcush, but the abbot wanted much more. And he was not getting through. The hierarchical system of the Dam People was a mystery, for one thing. Charoo appeared to have authority of some kind, but how much authority was a question. Could he speak for many of his people or only for his own village?
Sighing mentally, the abbot leaned forward and prepared to try once more. He was interrupted by a low laugh from the door of his chamber and whirled in a rage, to blast the presumptuous fool who had dared to break in upon him. His fury turned to joy in an instant.
“Hiero!” He embraced the younger man heartily, patting him on the back over and over again. “I knew you were coming, but I had no idea it would be this quick. But listen. You can perhaps help me. I am having the greatest of difficulty in understanding what this worthy person wants to say. Do you suppose … ?” He stopped talking, for Hiero ha
d freed himself and was standing before Charoo in utter silence. Then his hands began to move in certain complex gestures.
Charoo in turn began to move his own hands, and his round eyes were now sparkling even more brightly. In the silent room, the old man felt the pulse of thought, moving on an alien level and far faster than he could grasp. The four hands continued their strange movements; now they were touching and interweaving in a queer way as they did so, as if an invisible cat’s cradle were being formed. For another moment this went on; then both stepped backward and stared at each other.
“Chirrup,” the great beaver said. Dropping to all fours, he scuttled past the two men and out the half-open door. They heard his claws in the passage, and then he was gone into the night.
“Well,” the abbot said at length. “I hope you got more out of that than I did. And how, may I ask, did you know what it was that I wanted to say?”
Hiero dropped into a chair and laughed. “Because, Reverend Sir, as soon as Maluin brought me here to Namcush, I started looking for you. And I have, I regret to add, been eavesdropping as I came to this house from well down the street.”
“I see,” his superior said slowly. “That means you got Berain to send you on ahead of the fleet in one of his precious warships. Not an easy man to persuade, Berain. And your powers really are quite extraordinary. I have been hearing things, my boy. I only hope you keep the fear of God in your heart. No man, no decent man and Christian soul, has ever had the mental strength you seem to have picked up, Hiero. You make me wonder. Do you realize what your mind would be, should it be allied to the power of evil?” He glared down at his former pupil.
Hiero met his gaze frankly. “You can hear my confession just as soon as you like, Most Reverend Father,” he said flatly. “But first, wouldn’t you like to know what Charoo and I said to each other?”
It was touch and go for a moment, and then the old man chuckled. He seated himself in another wooden chair and laughed, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes, you insolent, I would like to very much. I can deal with your sins later and I’m sure there were plenty of them in a year away. Tell me what that damned old water hog wanted, because I certainly couldn’t grasp it.”
“Well, first, they have a rather complex sign language to augment their mind speech. 1 was siphoning some of that out of his brain while we were talking on another level mentally. It’s an odd band they think on, but not so odd as that of some other friends of mine you will meet presently. First, he wants to help, but is not sure how. His people are no good away from water, which is pretty obvious. What isn’t so obvious, unfortunately, is how parochial they are. Except for the young males and shes in the spring of the year, they don’t like being away from their own particular lake. They have a fantastic bond of affection for what might be called the home territory. I guess it’s ancestral, but that’s what he was trying to tell you. They have a council of sorts, and he has a lot of clout on it. They visit from village to village and from lake to lake, but—here’s the catch—not for very long at a time. He was trying to tell you that they can’t be counted on for any extended trips or journeys. They’d go crazy,”
“I see. That is certainly worth knowing. It means if there is a big fight and we want them in on it, it had better be somehow staged near where they are in the first place or it’s no go.”
“Exactly,” Hiero agreed. “And well have to think about that at length later. But just now, Father Abbot, I need some help. Is there any news of the South? Have you heard anything from Brother Aldo? No one in the fleet has heard of my wife, but you must have by this time. What news from the East? Have you heard anything—anything at all?”
Hiero had contained himself for a long time, but he was close to the breaking point. Only by rigorously shutting Luchare from his mind totally by the exercise of mental discipline had he been able to hold himself in so long. Abbot Demero saw the agony on the younger face and wished himself anywhere but in the same room.
“I suppose you learned nothing from any prisoners you took?” he asked at length. It was an answer of sorts, but not what he wished he could say.
“Nothing,” Hiero said in a dull voice, looking at the floor. “None but their adepts would have been likely to know, in any case. We saw only three of those, and they were taken in the act of murder and killed on the spot.” The room seemed darker, though the small lamp had not dimmed.
“You deserve the truth,” Demero admitted. “At least all the truth I have to give. Brother Aldo and I are far older friends than you imagine. For many years, unknown to the rest of the High Council of the Republic, I have been in contact with him. He has sought to warn me of the Unclean designs, and I have tried to spur his group to assume a more active part in our struggle. I sent messages to him when you first went south, and it was because of these that he was able to seek you out. Long ago, before your birth, he was of very high rank in your kingdom in the South.
“He brought back the books you found, and we have used them. It was only because of them that we were able to create and learn to use the computers. Without those, we could never have built the new ships so quickly, using and correlating knowledge from the old records. Those computers have saved us many months, and each day they save still more.
“But you want to hear of your princess. Aldo was here not too long ago. He had news of D’alwah—word that was passed over thousands of leagues. There is civil war. It is not good—such evil news that he left in the night to go south, where he could learn more.”
The younger man turned away. Evil word from the South, so bad that Brother Aldo had left in haste! Yet Luchare had known of the rebellion. Her father had been alive, and she had been able to send the faithful hopper to Hiero. She was forewarned. What could have happened? Whatever it was, he was helpless to do anything to aid her, lodged a thousand leagues and more to the north. There was nothing left but the soldier’s creed: Endure!
His face was masklike as he turned once more to Demero. “I know you’ll try to learn more and keep me informed, Father,” he said. “I can’t do anything to help D’alwah up here, except indirectly. Let’s drop the subject. Have I told you we took one of the Unclean Council Chambers undamaged? They had a thing like a great metal screen, set with hundreds of tiny lights, but there was no power source. At least, none that we could find. I had it dismantled as best I could. I have a strange feeling about the thing. It ought to go to the top Abbey mind-psychs at once, but I also want you to put your top computer men on it. I think it may be a computer of some strange sort, but powered by mental energy, and so …”
Listening to the iron control in the flat tones, the abbot had to make an effort to compose his own face and to pay attention. Under the disciplined voice, he heard the terrible muted passion. Yet he could do nothing to help.
From an opening in the green forest wall, there came a great black beast. Klootz strode into a broad clearing, his heavy dewlap hanging under his mighty neck. In the center of the clearing, he raised his head and sniffed the breeze, seeking any news that the wind might bring either his broad nostrils or his mule’s ears. His head bore only buds where the great antlers would come in the months ahead. He sniffed again, winnowing the airs of the great conifers and mighty oaks. Then, raising his head, he called, a far-echoing “Bah-oh.” Three times the nasal bugle rang through the woods. He seemed to listen in silence for an answer, but if one came, it would not have been audible to human ears.
Farther away, at the remote edge of the call’s carrying power, another animal abruptly checked his movement. Gorm stopped and sat up on his furry haunches, listening. His ears and nose twitched, and his eyes took on a look of mental strain. Then he grunted in satisfaction and set off in the direction of the bugling.
Klootz lowered his muzzle and suddenly lurched ponderously forward across the clearing and vanished into the woods, moving without a sound, his entry into the trees like that of a shadow—but a determined shadow.
The
royal army of D’alwah was in retreat. What was left of it was moving as rapidly as utter exhaustion would permit. Many men and animals bore dreadful wounds. Every so often, tired bodies simply collapsed, the energy to continue no longer there. It was easy to lose the men and beasts that fell, for it was night and none had the time or strength to help a neighbor. The few baggage wains that remained were lagging badly, though the kaws that pulled them were being goaded until blood ran to keep them moving at all. The king was already far behind. Many of the cavalry were without mounts, trudging dumbly forward on foot. The surviving hoppers were limping and footsore. It was the remnant of a beaten host, held together by loyalty and discipline. But both were eroding fast.
Occasionally, the tired men glanced back toward the south, where a red glare lighted the sky. D’alwah City was burning. Many of the troops were natives of the city and had families there.
They closed their eyes and tried not to look, or even to think of the horrors which must be going on behind them.
The Princess Royal of the kingdom rode in the van, her hopper still surrounded by a clump of mounted troopers. At her side, his right arm in a sling, Count Ghiftah Hamili commanded, his aquiline, dark face a mask of exhaustion. The army had no goal except safety and a place to rest. They were all, man and beast, utterly fought out. That there would be pursuit in the morning, all were keenly aware.
They had fallen back into the city two days before, defeated in the first battle, but still a strong and confident force. They felt they could rest and hold the walls until the levies of east and west, the marshmen and sailors of the coast and the Mu’aman infantry of the great plains, came to join them. When that happened, then they would sally out against the rebel duke and his foul allies and cut him and them to pieces.
That was not the way it happened. What happened was terrible. The conspiracy of beggars and street rabble they had put down a week, earlier had been the merest sham of an uprising, mounted only to catch them off guard. No sooner had the city gates been shut than the real uprising started. The stone barriers of the barred sewers and the access ports to the canals were burst open in some cases, unlocked by treachery in others. Out of the slimy waters erupted all the horrid life of the deeps, the things D’alwah had guarded against for centuries. While fresh attacks from without assaulted the walls of the city, within it the army was faced with the terrified civil populace and hordes of great reptiles, ravenous for blood. Nor was this all. At intervals, strange, manlike shapes, hard to see and hideous when one did, were actually marshaling the onslaught of savage reptilian life and leading it in some fashion against the rear of the embattled troops.
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