by David Mason
“These were only a few,” he said, looking toward the huddle of Iskarthans. “There are more, out there. I think they may be assaulting us everywhere.” He shrugged. “Basara is destroyed, anyway. When they do not hear from these, they’ll send more, and I doubt I’ve fifty men left who can fight.”
Within the hour the survivors of Basara moved out along the road to the north; a mere handful, all that lived, carrying whatever they could. The traders and their elephants came next, guarding the rear; and the battered remnant of the town’s garrison with them.
At the last, there had been a heated debate about the Iskarth prisoners. It was not custom to kill such; but it was not custom for warriors, even men of Iskarth, to slay with such insane zeal, either. There was a majority opinion in favor of death for all of them, and the process was actually under way when Zadosh intervened. He had pointed out, sardonically, that to leave the prisoners tied in the market was a far worse fate, and less time-wasting.
“Either they die of thirst,” he said, staring at them, “or their own warlords come and ask why they lie here, still living.” He chuckled then. “If they die of thirst, they will be fortunate. Leave them.” And they were left in destroyed Basara.
As the refugees of Basara plodded northward, the land grew greener and farms appeared here and there. But the peasants had already heard the news, and many of the farms were empty. There were others on the road now, too, and some had already encountered the Iskarthan enemy. In the east, smoke rose from burning farms.
There were many horses and dozens of elephants, with the increasing crowd on the road. Elephants were highly valued and could carry much more than a horse could manage; most of them were loaded with women and children, now.
Days before, Zadosh had tried to explain the curious bond between the Numithians and their haruths. They were not chattels, he had said; no one owned a haruth. You employed one, as a man might work for a wage. The elephant was free to leave, if it chose. Even more incredible to Daniel, the elephants needed little direction; in many things they decided for themselves.
Now, as they rode, Daniel saw that tale proved. Sunflower paused as they came up to two elephants drinking at a roadside pool. He uttered an inquisitive-sounding series of noises, and one of the two raised his head and replied. Sunflower trumpeted angrily and turned away toward the road again, moving more rapidly than before.
Zadosh, on his back with Daniel, looked concerned.
“That one told Sunflower that he had seen many haruths killed by the men of Iskarth, yesterday,” Zadosh said. “He is very angry, and Sunflower is also angry.”
“I can’t blame him,” Daniel said. “So am I.”
“I did not think to bring you into this turmoil, Lord Daniel,” Zadosh said glumly. “Iskarth had made no peace with us, but we did not expect this madness, either. They cannot take Numith. All that they can do is this, vent their cruelty on the countryside… but why? They gain nothing by this.”
Now, trumpets blew in the distance; the refugees were moving off the road, clearing it. Sunflower swung his bulk around and moved under a shady tree, to stand waiting.
Horsemen came, white-cloaked lancers riding small, tough-looking horses; Daniel guessed there to be two hundred or more of them. Close behind, a dozen war chariots followed; heavier than the Iskarth chariots, each with four horses and three men. And then, two by two, eighteen elephants; bulls, and even bigger than Sunflower. Each was armored in heavy leather, and one of the crescent-bladed swords hung on each huge beast’s neck, ready. And atop each, a high-sided saddle carried bowmen, riding as if in a castle on legs.
“There, in the lead,” Zadosh said. “That is the Lord Councilor Ebanak himself. And the finest warriors of Numith…” He stared grimly after the elephants. Sunflower trumpeted.
“We did not wish to teach any haruth how to kill,” Zadosh said gloomily. “They do not like to learn, even the old bulls like those who can no longer tup a female. But once they know anger… well, you see. Sunflower is yearning for war, too.”
The haruth grunted uneasily but did not reply. Now the road was clear and they moved forward again.
“The causeway, there ahead of us,” Zadosh said. Ammi cried out in amazement and Daniel, in spite of his memory of the future, was impressed.
Westward, the road had come closer to the sea, running along low cliffs. Ahead, it broadened as other roads entered, and then became a wide straight highway of white stone. On either side stood huge statues of dark stone, bearded giants with an Egyptian stiffness. The road went straight between two huge squat towers, and ran out, onto Narr’s Wall. One side was the sea, the other a long slant of hundreds of feet. Miles away, the shadowy towers of the city itself rose at the road’s end.
The dam was hundreds of feet wide, even at the top; it had to be much wider than that, at the base. Daniel, seeing it, was staggered. The thought of moving such incredible masses of material was difficult enough, if the work were done with modern machines. But when he tried to guess how it could be done by primitives, his imagination was completely stopped. It was impossible; yet, there it stood.
Eastward, the land sloped away, down, plainly well below sea level even at this point. Looking that way, Daniel remembered that Tangier had once been… or would be… there, on the promontory he saw in the distance. Beyond the distant city, the ancient rock of Gibraltar should be visible, too; he wondered what it would look like, nakedly standing with no sea to wrap around it.
Crowds still poured north, toward the city; occasionally armed men galloped by, southward, and there were many soldiers waiting by the roads as the traders passed.
Human tides eddied about the elephants as they moved on across the enormous causeway toward Numith; men, women and children, some of them wounded. There was a constant roar of voices, and Daniel listened, curiously.
The odd thing, to him, was the lack of fear. It seemed that none could imagine Numith could be taken; they were angry, and some wept for loss of friends and homes. But they seemed to believe that they had reached safety now.
As they came nearer the walls of Numith, Daniel could see why the people thought it impregnable. It was a strangely shaped city, very narrow and long. On one side, squat towered walls hung on the edge of a sheer drop to the land below. On the other, the city curved around a broad harbor in an immense crescent.
Two huge gates stood open in the smooth black wall that blocked the causeway; flanked by walls and towers on either side, the entrance to Numith was plainly not an easy one for any invader.
Within, the streets ran between tall houses, gaily painted; crowds of people filled the ways. It was plain that business went on, in spite of the war, and that there was no panic.
“We shall go to my own house, poor though it is,” Zadosh said. “None know that you have come, yet, but they soon will. Tales fly fast in this city. I’d have you speak with the Council before too long.”
Zadosh’s poor habitation proved to be a mansion set among tall palms in a garden. Here they left the elephants and the other traders, and Ammi and Daniel followed Zadosh into a hall. Great jeweled lamps lit the place and servants came swiftly, at Zadosh’s handclap. It was an Arabian Nights’ fantasy, Daniel thought, dazed.
A pair of giggling girls led him away to bathe in a deep pool of hot water. As he soaked, he discovered how much he had missed such a simple thing as this… though a bath in the house of Zadosh was hardly to be called simple, he thought, grinning. The girls knelt beside the pool, bringing odd sweetmeats and a hot, lemony-tasting wine, and continuing to giggle in chorus. But Ammi entered, her eyes wide with anger, and drove the girls out in haste.
“You may have any number of those” she told Daniel. “But not just now. The journey was too long.” She smiled at him from her perch on the pool’s rim, and sipped the hot wine. “It’s very good,” she said in a low voice, and held out the cup to him.
He stretched out his hand. Ammi slipped out of her single garment and stepped into the water, be
side him; not hastily, but with a beautiful deliberation.
No one needed to teach this girl anything about the arts of women, Daniel thought, smiling at her.
Chapter VIII
Messengers came to the city from the Lord Ebanak, and from others. The men of Iskarth had retreated swiftly before them, moving back into the mountains from which they had come. On the banks of a river, Ebanak had caught a few chariots and warriors, and destroyed them. But it was not enough for any of the men of Numith; there was much talk of further pursuit.
There was talk, too, of the mysterious matter of the foreigner, he who was the friend of the sea folk, even a friend of the Morra-ayar themselves. It was said that he was a great magician and had ways by which the land of Iskarth and of Esmare too could be burned up, as in a fire. If it were possible, it would be a fine idea; everyone agreed on that, in the markets and shops and along the quays.
The stranger lord was even now speaking with the Great Council, the rulers of the city. Doubtless, he was offering them his magic and Iskarth was doomed. It made everyone feel much better to consider the idea; especially since warships of Esmare had been seen, in the western sea, approaching Numith.
The mountainous building in the very center of the city towered over all, domed and pillared as though built for giants. It was very old, the work of the Builder himself, Daniel was told; and here, in a great domed chamber, the Council gathered.
Some of them were fierce-faced warriors, and some women, who held equal right to sit with the Council in Numith. A few were old, white-bearded, and with a look of much wisdom about them.
Each councilor spoke for his clan; Numith was ruled in the old way, as in ancient Eloranor, by tribes and families.
“But I’m not a magician,” Daniel was saying. “There’s no great secret to the fire bombs. I can make more, or I can show others how they can be made.” He stopped, and felt a surge of guilt again. It was an evil thing, even such a small matter as this. It must change the world, and not for the better; but now it was already done and it was too late to change it.
A white-bearded man, the Councilor Sarak, nodded.
“It is recorded that such things were done, long ago,” he said slowly. “We thank you, Lord Daniel, not only for your new weapon, but for the warning you gave.” Sarak looked at the others. “Hear his words!” the old man said solemnly. “He has said that such weapons are dangerous, even to these who must use them. Yet, if the city must be saved, he will instruct us. These are the words of an honorable man. Look then, and see within. The Lord Daniel is not of the initiated, he has taken no oath concerning the secret things, yet he speaks as an initiated magician might speak. Therefore, the thing he brings is a true magic.”
It was obviously going to be impossible to argue semantics, Daniel thought as he listened.
“Now, as you know, the sea folk have told us that we are to hear this man, and that we would be wise to give him all aid that he asks,” Sarak said. “Therefore, I now ask that he be made one of this Council, and a free man of Numith.”
One by one, the Councilors lifted their right hands in consent. Not one was against.
Sarak himself took charge of Daniel; he showed him the ancient secrets of the city’s central fortress, the hidden hoard of strange objects and writings that dated from the building of the wall itself, and before. There were a dozen levels, going down into the body of the immense dam; a warren of passages and rooms, into which few came any longer.
The world of Narr’s time was less primitive than Daniel had thought. Eloranar’s fall, under the ice, had taken much away from the races of man; there had been a great step backward, into primitive ways and techniques. It was impossible for Daniel to read the ancient records, but the objects themselves, and the drawings, were enough. Then, too, Sarak translated, whenever Daniel wished him to do so.
Daniel found drawings of what seemed to be primitive but practical machines; even a crude steam engine. There were diagrams of the solar system, which made it plain that the ancients had known the essentials of astronomy. On the walls of the hidden rooms queer objects were displayed; tools, weapons and things Daniel could not understand at all.
More puzzling were the occasional drawings of what seemed to be a man wearing a strange, crocodile-shaped mask. It looked like the ancient Egyptian god-demon, Set, Daniel thought. He asked Sarak about it.
“Why, that is one of the people who lived long ago, before man was made,” Sarak said calmly. “Doubtless, some of them still lived in Narr’s time. Though none have been seen in many years.”
“A lizard?” Daniel stared at the drawing. “An intelligent lizard?” He remembered the images that the Morra-ayar had shown him, and was silent
And finally Sarak led him to the lowest level, moving with slow steps and a look of awe. The old man paused before a low, solid-looking door.
“Here is the last of our secret places, Lord Daniel,” he said in a hushed voice. “Few men know it exists; fewer have seen it. But it is your right to enter here, according to the message of the sea folk. Come.”
He opened the door and took a torch from the wall; he went inside and Daniel followed
It was a long, narrow room, almost a passage. The torch lit only a part of it, high smooth walls that were dewed with moisture, a smooth stone floor, utterly featureless. Their footsteps rang hollowly as Daniel followed Sarak.
At the room’s end, the torchlight flickered on what stood against the wall. Sarak paused as Daniel looked at it.
A sarcophagus of greenish stone, almost translucent in the torch’s flicker, rested upright against the stone wall. Within it, a figure stood. It was wrapped in sheets of thin metal and masked with a curiously made golden mask in which jewels were set for eyes. The mask was very realistic; Daniel thought it might have been molded over the features of the man beneath.
Beside the figure in its jade tomb, a huge lever rose out of a slot in the stone floor; a rod of time-green metal, as thick as a man’s arm, and as tall as a man.
“It is Narr the Builder, greatest of the ancients,” Sarak said. “He sleeps here, within his greatest work, and guards… that.” He indicated the rod.
“Narr himself !” Daniel said softly. He stepped a little closer and studied the masked, dead face. It was the face of a man dead for centuries, but somehow it seemed almost alive; the jeweled eyes were open, staring back into Daniel’s own. The face was impressive; there was a look of enormous will, yet gentleness too.
Daniel felt a strange power in the dead man, somehow, and a chill touched him. He stepped back.
“You said he guards… that? What is it?”
“It controls a gate, beneath the wall,” Sarak said. “It is the flow of water that enters the Salt River, beyond. Only a few times in hundreds of years has it been moved, even a little… yet, we keep it ready, as the Builder instructed. See… if it moves thus,” Sarak pointed, “then less water flows. In the other, more water; thus, if the sea rises too high, we may relieve its pressure. But it must not be drawn too far; the rush of water would destroy even the wall itself, and certainly all that lies below.”
It would break the wall, Daniel thought.
Am I… manipulated, like a piece on a chessboard, by somebody playing a game, he thought. He could not believe in a god, not even in a devil, but… he looked at the calm gold face of the Builder again.
“Isn’t that a dangerous thing to have done?” Daniel asked quietly. He looked at the huge lever, seeing the worn marks on the slot in which it rode, numbers possibly, though in an unknown language. “Why not build the sluicegate so it could not be opened far enough for danger?”
“He knew the sea was sinking,” Sarak said. “Look, when we return to the upper levels. Since his time, the sea has grown a little lower against the harbor walls, each year. In ten generations more, the gate may be opened fully, perhaps.”
The gardens of the house of Zadosh were quiet, cut off by high walls from the sounds of the city. Sometimes the rumble of
carts and the tramp of marching feet could be heard, and the brazen roar of trumpets. There had been fighting north of the city, where five of the galleys of Esmare had come close to the banks of the great causeway. It seemed a desperate attempt on their part, to land men at that point, and it had failed.
“I wish I knew what reasons drive those madmen to such things,” Zadosh said, scowling at the setting sun over the garden wall. “Our spies said that Balthon of Esmare was weak, loving pleasure better than war, though much influenced by his new religion. Alcron, the king of Iskarth, was always the lover of war. Yet, the men of Esmare have been leading in this foolishness…”
“I wish I knew what drives Daniel,” Ammi said, and sat down on a bench. She turned her hands in her lap, staring down. “He grows strange, lately.”
Strange? Zadosh thought. No stranger than yourself, woman. But then, all women were beyond understanding, at times. Especially one like this, he thought. He had seen her aim an arrow with a face as calm as stone; look at death like a warrior. Now she whimpered because her man was too busy to be with her. Yet, Zadosh thought with a slight enviousness, it would be a fine thing if some of his own women could regard himself so highly.
“The Lord Daniel is much taken up with the defence of the city,” Zadosh said. “Many things that he must oversee himself, the work of artisans…”
Ammi shook her head. “No, that I don’t wonder about. It’s another thing.” She frowned. “He would not like it if I tell… but you are his friend. And I have seen that you know many things.” She paused for a moment. “He… dreams. In the night, he speaks in a strange language, the same… the same one he used, when he came… back. Then he cried out, as though afraid.”
“Daniel?” Zadosh said. “Afraid? That one… well, every man fears something, I suppose.”
“Sometimes, he is not Daniel anymore,” Ammi said in a low voice, staring straight ahead of her. “Though asleep, he… changes. His face… becomes the face of Egon, as he was, and he speaks, in his sleep… matters which were between myself and Egon. Zadosh, you heard our history. Can you say if Daniel is…” She faltered. “I do not know how to say it, there are no words. Once it was Egon I loved, who was my man. Then he died, and afterward, it became Daniel, though he looked the same. He did not look the same, to me, only to others… do you see?”