by Eando Binder
Flattery had failed. Or had it? She was staring at him now with a veiled interest.
“There is something strange about you,” she murmured. “Your manner, the look in your eyes, your accent—”
“I have a defect of speech,” Ellory said weakly, remembering he had once used that excuse.
“Also occasioned by my blinding beauty?” Her laugh came again. “No, you are a more subtle character than that, Humrelly. You stand so straight and stiff. A humble posture does not come easily to you, does it? In ways, you are more like one of us, or like one of the Ancients might have been.”
She was peering at him, and Ellory thought she had finally penetrated his secret. But staring back into those soft blue eyes, he held his tongue. She expected no answer. She seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, and a slow smile dimpled her cheeks.
“You did not lie this time!” she said cryptically.
Abruptly, then, she turned to the ship. “We will go.”
She turned back.
“It will be wise for you,” she said, as though it were an afterthought, “to discontinue the use of metal weapons. It will be reported to the Outland Council. They will take stern measures if they find disobedience.”
She leaped lightly into the cabin, and from a safe distance, a moment later, Ellory watched the craft lift into the sky and vanish to the south.
“Well done, Humrelly,” said Mal Radnor. “Your lies, sweetened with the honey of flattery, tasted as truth to our Lady ErMalne of Lillamra!”
But Ellory knew what she had meant, in that phrase. She had a beauty that confused the tongue! Ellory hadn’t lied. A man’s senses would reel, if too long in her presence. He realized with a start, hours later, that the entrancing vision of her had lodged unshakably in his mind. Sharina’s face, from long absence, faded beside it.
Ellory shook his head with annoyance and turned back to the map, memorizing the route to be followed next day by his great army. A crucial day had passed. Demoralization in the army had changed to a unified esprit de corps. The way lay clear.
The way to conquest, empire—freedom for his people… There was a slight stirring at his elbow.
“Are we going to give up our metal weapons, as our Lady ErMalne commanded?” asked Mal Radnor with a knowing smirk.
“What do you think?” Ellory’s smile became grim. “But we’ll have to watch our step. Hereafter, if an Antarkan ship happens to appear, we’ll have the men hide their weapons.”
“Freedom from Antarka!”
Hurling this defiance to the skies ruled by Antarka, Ellory’s empire-building legion marched northwest, no longer an army but a crusade. No longer were they Noraks, Quoise, Jendra and Thakals. Shoulder to shoulder they tramped, united in cause and aim.
Their line of march went forward now with scarcely a break in uniform speed, like a steamroller. Opposing armies broke at the first skirmish. States flanking the line of conquest hastened to sue for peace, fearing the conqueror would turn. Ahead of Ellory, on wings of speech, flew the story of his prowess.
Chapter 17
EMPIRE
Ellory stood in the shadow of ancient Chicago’s towering ruins, and realized he was master of America.
Six months had gone by, since he had left New York. The last half of his invasion had been carried on by riders, bearing messages that were half ultimatum, half lure, to all the states west of the Mississippi.
Join the Federation, or be attacked! Secondly, the Federation would down the might of Antarka!
The two factors were irresistible. Like sheep they flocked to his banner. Fast horsemen were already returning from the distant tribes of former California, overlooking the broad Pacific. They, too, swore fealty to the cause, and to Humrelly, the great Lord from the Past.
The assemblage grew as the days passed. Ellory, rapidly formulating plans for the future, had called a grand conclave of his new empire, here beside the silvery waters of Lake Michigan.
There was a sudden clatter of hooves from the east and a party of horsemen resolved itself into Jon Darm, Sharina and Sem Onger, escorted by a metal-armed troop.
Jon Darm, dismounting, grasped Ellory by both shoulders.
“I can hardly believe it yet, Humrelly!” he exclaimed. “We rode eight days, from Norak, through the lands of ten other tribal people. It would have been suicide, before your coming. Now, everywhere we went, we were greeted in friendship. They do not simply fear your might. The cry ‘Freedom from Antarka’ has lodged in their hearts. You have given us a single mind. You have truly unified this great state, of which I am—president!”
Jon Darm glowed with pleasure at Ellory’s start. “President!” he echoed dazedly. “Where did you—”
“Sem Onger told me of your twentieth-century government. We will institute a similar system. I am proud to be the president of the reborn United States of America!”
Ellory turned away for a moment, tremendously moved by this echo from the dead past. Then he nodded eagerly.
“You’ve done exactly as I wished, Jon Darm. We must look far ahead. After the yoke of Antarka is shed, a greater task reMalns of rebuilding civilization. We will need a wise beneficent government, over the whole world!”
“And you, Humrelly, will be its guiding star!” Sharina’s voice chimed softly.
Ellory turned to her, aware that he had been avoiding her eyes. She had been staring at him, half perplexed, after greeting Mal Radnor. Ellory had noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the young chieftain’s reserve with her. Now he stood with a faint, resigned sadness in his eyes, a look Ellory had seen more than once. If only, Ellory reflected, the tyranny of the heart could be attacked as directly as the tyranny of Antarka!
“Thanks, angel,” Ellory murmured.
Angel! Another’s angelic beauty rose in his mind, confusing him. He couldn’t think of any more to say, though the girl waited. To his relief, something else broke the strained silence.
Old Sem Onger had sidled up, groaning. “Eight days upon a horse’s back is tyranny, too. Ah, for the strength of youth again!” At their smiles, he added belligerently: “Not that I’m getting old. Why, a man’s in his prime at seventy!”
“Some day,” mused Ellory, half to himself, “there will be vehicles again—autos, trains, aircraft.”
“I have stolen some of your thunder, Humrelly,” interposed the garrulous old scholar. “In my odd moments, between the sword making at the ruins, I devised an iron plow. What do you think of that, Humrelly?”
He grinned delightedly, like a child who had outwitted its parent.
Ellory simulated a jealous astonishment, for the old man’s pleasure.
“Good!” he exclaimed earnestly. “You have both feet on the ground, Sem Onger. At times I dream too much.”
Suddenly he looked into the clear, warm sky.
“Sem Onger, tell me something. What’s happened to the weather since my time? I was taken out of the crypt in April. Here it is January, and it feels like August! And June, in the latitude of Norak, was like Florida. Ten months of summer! When does winter come?”
“Winter?”
“Yes. Cold and whipping winds, and snow.”
“Snow?” Sem Onger stared. “There is no snow here, Humrelly. That occurs only in the far north. You would have to travel north on a fast horse for two weeks, to find snow. And little of it there.”
Ellory was stunned. That would be northernmost Canada and Alaska. No winters, such as he knew, in the temperate latitudes! New York, Chicago, Winnipeg, enjoying Florida weather all the year round! Had the Earth’s axis tilted, during the age he had slept? Another mystery for him to investigate, when he had the time.
“I’ve been awaiting your arrival,” he addressed them all. “This afternoon, after you’ve rested, I’ll speak to the represe
ntatives of our new nation.”
Ellory stood bareheaded before the assemblage, his strong, tanned face bathed in bright sunlight. Back of him sounded the soft lap-lap of the lake’s emerald green waters.
He suspected that the lip of land to the side, stone heaped at its end, had once held the Adler Planetarium. The twentieth century people had viewed its artificial canopy of stars, the same stars that the fiftieth century saw in its skies.
In this one thing, three thousand years had meant nothing. Before him, in an expectant semicircle, stood the Noraks, elbow to elbow with the envoys of most of the tribes inhabiting central North America. Back of these, in orderly columns, their veteran army of one hundred thousand stood at ease, marshaled by a staff of officers. Back of them, many perched on the ruin heaps for better vision, were perhaps a million citizens of the middle west tribes, come to witness this stupendous occasion.
All eyes rested on Homer Ellory with a look of awe, as peoples had always looked on great leaders and liberators. Moses, Mohammed, Charlemagne, Washington—Ellory felt his kinship with them, at this moment. Less than a year ago he had crawled from the crypt, a bewildered living fossil from a past age. Now this!
He was known from the Atlantic to the Pacific, through the grapevine of rumor, as the Lord of the Past. Most likely, he decided, they looked on him as a semi-divine visitant, sent by higher powers. So much the better, for the present.
“Citizens and envoys of the United States of America!” he began, his voice slightly tremulous. “Though I achieved my aim of unity through the sword, my purpose has been more than military conquest.”
He came right to the point.
“Matters of government can come later. United now in purpose, we can defy the tyranny of Antarka. That will be the first concern of this federation of your tribes. Freedom from Antarka!”
He had raised his voice. Taking the cue, the mighty crowd hurled the three words to the skies, with a thunder that shook the ground. Irrelevantly, Ellory wondered how many decibels of sound-energy had been released.
That was all the oratory Ellory wished to use. He went on, in lower tones, speaking directly to the envoys. The crowd would hear later, and all the peoples throughout the land, by repetition.
“The Antarkans are due in another month, for their usual visit. We’ll declare ourselves then. It won’t do to just ask for freedom. We’ll have to take it. Not one youth, girl or shipload of supplies will be yielded!”
He looked around slowly. “Any discussion?”
The envoys looked at one another. The democratic institution of the council chamber, and free discussion with those in power, was new to them. Finally an envoy stepped forward, half sheepishly, but Ellory nodded encouragingly.
“The result of that,” he ventured, “will simply be attack. Their airships and their terrible weapons will destroy our cities. Many lives will be lost!”
“Cities can be evacuated beforehand,” returned Ellory, in accordance with the campaign he and Mal Radnor had discussed for long careful hours. “And cities can be rebuilt. Besides, how many airships have they?”
“Just a few dozen,” spoke up Sem Onger.
“You see?” said Ellory. “You have many cities. They have a few ships. That is why unity among us will defeat them.”
“But they are cruel, heartless!” objected another envoy, bolder now. “They will hound us till we relent—”
And then the council of rebellion waxed in deadly earnest. Ellory and Mal Radnor had an answer for everything. Gradually the skeptical, fearful attitude of the envoys changed to wholehearted accord.
Ellory arose finally, as twilight shadows descended. “Of course it will not be easy,” he summed it up. “Nothing worth while is won easily. When the first Antarkan slaveships land, secret forces must be ready in every capital, to capture them. Do not kill the Lords. Take them alive, as hostages.
“If the Antarkans begin a campaign of aerial destruction, it would take them years to finish it. In the meantime, they will lack necessary food supplies. If they force more food tribute from other tribes over the world, they too will revolt, eventually.
“Our spark will light the fuse! It may take years and years, yes. But sooner or later, the Antarkans will be faced with one glaring fact—that they must defeat us, if they can, on the ground. And there, we have won. All wars hinge on one factor, numbers. We can put millions of warriors in the field, to their thousands. Even their superior weapons cannot overcome our tremendous manpower!
“After the initial declaration of our independence, a month from now, we will see what they do. If they send a ground army immediately, Mal Radnor and I will face them a million strong. If that is not enough, two million—three million—ten million! The Lords of Antarka cannot win!”
The first conclave of the reborn United States of America was over. Ellory was sure of himself. Only one thing disturbed him, as he walked with Jon Darm and the others to a village for a night’s rest. An Antarkan ship suddenly appeared overhead, circling suspiciously. Ellory ground his teeth. With millions of square miles of land to soar over, on their idle cruises, must they always accidentally spy out these crucial gatherings? Would they land to investigate the huge crowd? It would be hard to explain that away.
But the Antarkan ship soared away again, as though indifferent to the antlike doings of their thousand-year subjects. Undoubtedly they had seen many abortive revolts, and feared nothing. But this time…
Ellory smiled grimly into the sky.
Chapter 18
THE GLEAMING SHIP
The great day dawned clear and cool, a month later. Ellory was back in the Norak capital, on the Hudson, awaiting the coming of the Antarkan slaveship. All over America, the other Stone-Age people were waiting…waiting.
It was a tense, grim moment, with the fate of two civilizations, one present and one future, in the balance.
At last it appeared, at the appointed hour of noon, soaring down grandly. Ellory quailed suddenly. The gleaming ship represented a great science. A science of power. Pitted against it were the Stone-Age people, with little more than their lives and courage.
Could they hope to win this giants’ battle?
He looked at the fighting men back of him, hiding in the shadows of buildings, faces earnest, muscles tensed. As suddenly, courage oozed back into him. They must win, with a thousand years of hatred against the lordly Antarkans as their best weapon.
The thundering craft rolled to a stop in the city square. To their eyes, nothing would seem amiss. They would step out, expecting Jon Darm to yield his tribute in lives, as before. They did not know of the five thousand Norak troops concealed in every building. The Antarkans would be captured before they had a chance to think. Their ship too.
Ellory tried to picture the look of dismay that would come over the lovely features of ErMalne, Lady of Lillamra.
“I hope she isn’t hurt,” he found himself thinking.
The ship had landed and the rocket blasts died. Ellory waited, trembling as with a fever. When would that hatch open?
But it didn’t open, even after a minute. An ominous wonder pierced Ellory’s mind.
“Jon Darm, listen to me!”
Ellory jumped. The Lady ErMalne’s voice, rolling over the square in tones amplified to stentorian volume.
“We are not stepping from our ship! Your plans are known. We know of your concealed troops, waiting to rush out to seize us. We know the plot of revolt, throughout the land!”
Ellory groaned. Beside him, Mal Radnor’s eyes were stunned, unbelieving. The fighting men in back muttered bewilderedly.
The amplified bell-voice went on, her tones reproachful as though she were speaking to children.
“We offer you pardon, Jon Darm. You will be wise to accept. Have your troops file away, in full view. Then deliver to
us ten youths, as usual. Also, the man known as Humrelly! We will then pretend you never planned the revolt, and will not take steps of retribution.”
The voice hardened.
“Attack the ship, if you wish. Our weapons will teach you better. Then, later, we will raze your city! All over the land, the same will happen!”
Ellory tried to think rationally, in this awful moment. Tried to weigh possibilities, but his mind was an agonized blank. Jon Darm, in the Royal House, was waiting for Ellory’s decision—and Ellory had none.
Suddenly he realized that he had jumped up, was running and shouting. Dimly he was aware that he had become what the twentieth-century psychologists labeled a maniac.
“Freedom from Antarka!” he was bellowing, waving his sword and lunging toward the ship.
Ellory was never to have a clear conception, afterward, of the following minutes. Flashes of scenes came to his eyes, like lightning stabs in a dark night. A scene of thousands of armed Noraks converging on the ship. Another of livid flames shooting out among them like demon’s tongues. Men dropping, screaming, skin and flesh burned black. Bodies piling like cement sacks, around the square.
Ellory lurched on drunkenly, half his clothing burned away, his skin on fire. His sword handle heated, burned his palm, but he gripped it tighter. He lurched on.…
He was down suddenly—his legs rubber, his lungs breathing pure fire. His senses faded, slowly, as though he were wrestling against Death itself. Dimly, his swollen eyes saw an incredible vision—an angel’s face bent over him. Two angels’ faces—Sharina and ErMalne.
Strong arms lifted him, a little later. Motion. A muffled throb under him, smooth flight…utter darkness, then, like a curtain.
Ellory sat up on soft covers, groaned with pain, then leaned back on his elbow. His right leg, chest and head were bandaged. He could feel the coolness of salves under them, soothing his burns.
He looked around, his eyes clearing. He was in a small cubicle, plush-lined, lying on a bunk. One person was in the room with him—ErMalne, Lady of Lillamra.