Vault of the Ages

by Poul Anderson

  “Go get him, Carl!” shouted Owl.

  Carl crossed blades with Lenard. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said the northerner. “Let’s go!”

  His saber slithered free and lifted for a downward sweep. Carl struck first, holding his shield up as he battered against Lenard’s. The prince’s blade rasped across that shield and slewed about toward Carl’s thigh. The boy smote downward, beating the enemy weapon aside, and skipped back. Lenard rushed at him, blade howling. It crashed mightily against Carl’s shield. The boy planted himself firm, and his lighter, straight weapon clashed against the saber.

  Then they were at it, ducking and dodging, weaving around, and steel banging on steel. Carl’s flickering blade sprang past Lenard’s guard to slash the man’s cheek. Lenard’s saber answered, ringing on the Dalesman’s helmet, bouncing from his shield. It struck the rim of that bullhide defense with a fury that dragged Carl’s arm down. The Lann warrior grunted, thrusting forward, but his curved edge slid off the armored shoulder beyond. Carl hacked at the calf of his enemy’s leg and felt his weapon bite through leather and flesh. The Dalesmen whooped.

  Lenard growled and bored in, a sudden whirring, clamoring blur of attack. The blows hailed and thundered, shivering in Carl’s muscles and bones. He tried to parry, and his sword was hammered aside. Lenard drove forward relentlessly. Carl stepped back, panting.

  Whooo—bang! Carl’s head reeled with the shock. Stars danced before his eyes. Lenard hewed at his ankles, drawing blood. Carl slashed at the barbarian’s arm. The cut was deep, but the blunted edge would not bite well. Lenard grinned in fury and his snake’s-tongue saber blazed against the boy’s defense. A ragged hole opened in the Dale shield, carved away by shrieking steel. Carl met the saber in mid-sweep, sparks and rattling. He ran backward as Lenard parried. The saber howled by his ear and raked down his sword arm.

  He was fighting desperately now, against an older, heavier, more experienced warrior. The shock and thunder of blows was loud in his ears. He crossed blades and his own was hurled aside—almost wrenched from his hand. The frame of his shield gave away, a splinter stabbing his left arm. He threw the thing off, hurling it under Lenard’s feet. The northerner tripped over it and crashed to the ground. Carl hacked at him, but the enemy shield turned his blow and Lenard scrambled up again.

  “Well done!” he cried.

  His saber whistled against Carl’s now unshielded left. The boy retreated, weaving a barrier of flying metal to guard himself. The Lann army tightened and cheered, seeing him outclassed. He couldn’t go any farther. The wall of a building opposite the vault was suddenly against his back. Carl planted his legs firm and struck two-handed at Lenard, letting the northerner’s blade smash at his own armored side. The straight sword whined against Lenard’s incautiously exposed head. Blood ran free and Lenard’s helmet rolled off. Carl had cut its chin strap but done little other harm. Lenard shook his head, bull-like, briefly dazed, and gave Carl a chance to slip back into the open.

  Yelling, Lenard rushed him. Carl twisted his body sideways, holding his left arm out of danger. He thrust against the attacking barbarian, reaching for the eyes. Lenard nearly spitted himself, but he danced aside in time. Carl drilled in, pulling his dagger out with his left hand. Sword caught on sword, and Carl stabbed with the knife.

  His thrust, awkwardly made, did little harm. Lenard broke free and crashed his shield-rim down on Carl’s wrist. Numbed, the boy dropped the dagger. Lenard thrust close, sword spitting from behind his shield. Carl clinched again. Lenard thrust a sudden foot behind Carl’s ankles and shoved. The boy went over on his back. Lenard sprang at him. Carl kicked with both feet. The kick thudded against Lenard’s shield, driving him back. Carl rolled free and regained his stance, panting.

  Lenard’s blade sang against Carl’s helmet. The Dalesman staggered, and the watching Lann cheered afresh. Carl lurched back, Lenard hammering his defense.

  “Carl, Carl,” groaned Owl.

  Wildly, the boy held firm and battled. His breath was sobbing now. A wave of dizziness went through him and his knees shook. He was not afraid. There wasn’t time for fear. But his body wouldn’t obey; it was too tired.

  He sent a mighty blow against Lenard’s bare head. The shield came up to catch it, and the saber chopped for his neck. Carl ducked, letting the sweep ring on his helmet. He yanked his sword free and stabbed two-handed against Lenard’s shield. The bullhide gave—but only a little, and Carl had to leap away before he was cut down.

  His back was once more to the wall. He leaned against the old bricks and met the furious assault as it came. Steel whistled and belled, a flying blur.

  Carl’s sword met the thick edge of Lenard’s saber, slid along it, and caught in a notch there. Lenard roared triumphantly and twisted with a skilled strength. The sword spun from Carl’s sweat-slippery hand and went clanging to the street.

  “Now you’re done!” shouted Lenard. His saber lifted for the death stroke. The Lann howled their glee.

  Carl sprang. He leaped against his enemy, one hand closing on the sword arm, one reaching for the throat. Lenard writhed, stepping back. Carl’s right hand doubled into a fist and jolted a blow to Lenard’s jaw. The northerner snarled and tried to jerk his weapon free. Carl tripped him, and they crashed to earth.

  The boy clawed for the saber. Lenard’s shield was pinned under the barbarian, holding his left arm useless. Carl’s hands tugged at the saber haft. Lenard slipped his shield arm free and closed it about Carl’s neck. The boy grunted, hammering a fist down on the fingers closed about the weapon. It suddenly clattered free as the two fighters rolled to one side.

  Carl’s fist smashed into the dark face that was now above him. Blood came. Lenard gouged for his eyes. Carl flung up an arm to protect himself, and Lenard twisted away, clutching after the saber. Carl got a scissor-lock about his waist and dragged him back.

  The air was alive with the howling of the Lann. The Dalesmen strained forward, white and drawn of face. The combatants rolled in the street, fists and arms locked, battering, raging.

  The flat of Lenard’s hand struck Carl in the throat. Gasping with pain, the boy released his gripping arms. Lenard writhed half-free of the scissors-hold, reaching for the saber.

  Carl surged up, clawing his way onto Lenard’s back. He closed fingers in the barbarian’s hair and smashed his enemy’s forehead against the old pavement.

  Lenard roared. Carl beat his head down again, and again, and again. Suddenly the warrior lay still.

  “Carl, Carl, Carl!” whooped the Dalesmen.

  The boy shook his head, now ringing and swimming with darkness. Thunder beat in his ears and blood dripped from his face to the street. Shuddering, he crawled free on hands and knees, looking up at the enemy host through ragged veils of darkness.

  They surged uneasily, muttering, rolling wild eyes. Had the boy’s victory proved that he was a powerful witch, or did it mean nothing? But Lenard lay beaten, Lenard the bold who had egged them on in the teeth of angry gods. Their courage waned. There were so few Dalesmen to stand them off—but who knew what powers those few had ready to loosen?

  Carl sat up, holding his aching head in both hands. The darkness was fading now, swirling from his eyes, but the thuttering and booming still went on. There were faint shouts and—

  And they weren’t within himself!

  Carl staggered erect, not daring to believe. Above the Lann host, suddenly shrieking in alarm, there was the blowing of horns, the drumming of hoofs, the deep-voiced shouts of men. Far down the street, Carl saw a green and yellow banner advancing, floating against heaven. The noise of battle lifted as the newcomers fell on the Lann from the rear.

  Dalesmen!

  Carl reeled away from the sudden, trampling horde of spectators. Almost without thinking, he grasped Lenard by the hair and pulled the unconscious prince away from those frantic feet. Owl and Ezzef sprang out to help him back.

  “Our people!” gibbered Owl. “Our people! I can
’t believe it!”

  “Let me see—” New strength flowed back into Carl. Aided by his friends, he climbed up on the top of a wall from which he could see what was happening.

  He recognized his father, mounted in the van of a Dale force that must have numbered some four hundred men. They were dusty, weary, their armor and bodies scarred with recent combat, their horses staggering in exhaustion, but they were hurling themselves against the enemy with a fierceness that rang between the ancient buildings.

  The Lann at that end of the avenue had kept to their horses and were meeting the attack with the vigor of freshness. Behind them, their fellows rallied, pressing forward against this new menace and raising their own war shouts. Carl’s new-found gladness turned to dismay.

  The Dalesmen had come, yes—but they were tired, outnumbered two to one, moving against the most terrible foe of their history. Could they win? Would this prove only a trap?

  Chapter 20

  TWILIGHT OF THE GODS

  From his post on the wall, Carl saw Ralph plainly now. The Dale Chief was still mounted, a tall and terrible figure in travel-stained armor, hair flashing gold in the late sun. His standard-bearer rode beside him, but the rest of his army were leaping from their animals and thrusting ahead on foot.

  A Lann cavalryman swung mightily at Ralph, sword whistling to clang against the Dalesman’s blade. That steel seemed to come alive, howling and roaring, smashing down the northerner’s guard and sending him to earth. A lancer thrust at Ralph. The Chief chopped out, hewing the shaft in two, and pressed against the man.

  The Lann horseman edged back from the grimly advancing wall of pikes. In this narrow space, they had no chance against such an assault. Their comrades on foot yelled at them to get out of the way, and they too dismounted.

  Now arrows began to fly over the heads of the front-rank Dalesmen, sleeting down among the Lann. A rattle of swords and axes lifted as the two lines met. The rearward Lann whooped, pushing forward, adding their own weight to the thrust against the Dalesmen. Their advance halted, the warriors of Ralph opened their ranks to let a line of their own swordsmen and axmen through the pikes.

  Metal banged on metal and sheared in flesh. Ralph’s horse neighed, rearing and trampling, while its rider’s blade swung like a reaping scythe. The Lann attacked with steadily rising bravery, leaping over the bodies of the fallen, smashing against the Dale weapons, and slowly, step by step, they drove the newcomers back.

  Ezzef groaned. “They’re too many for us,” he said. “Too many—it’s all been for nothing, Carl.”

  “No—wait—what’s this?” The boy peered down the street, shading his eyes against the western sun. “What are they doing?”

  The double front rank of the Dalesmen stood firm, trading blow for blow, but their comrades behind them were withdrawing, racing down the street. Ralph himself pushed through his human wall to join those pulling back.

  “Are they beaten already?” whispered Owl. “No, they can’t be!”

  Many yards of empty distance from the battle, the Dalesmen halted and wheeled about. Pikes reached through their massed lines, swords and axes swung free and bowmen and slingers loped in the rear. Ralph lifted his sword and plunged forward. His men poured after him, yelling.

  The Dalesmen who had been standing off the foe suddenly sprang aside, crowding against the walls on either hand. Carl saw what his father’s idea was, and he shouted with the men as that massed charge struck the Lann.

  The four hundred men running together struck a terrible blow whose hammer-noise trembled in the earth and lifted up to heaven. Pikes were driven like battering-rams, smashing through all defenses to shatter the first barbarian lines. Those behind reeled from the shock, forcing their own rearward men farther back. A gray storm of arrows rained on the suddenly confused Lann army, and the hewers of the Dales thundered against them and hurled them into each other.

  For long moments, the struggle went on; the Lann in retreat before the smashing, sundering Dalesmen, their ranks crumpled, panic running blindly among them. They had been shaken by powers of magic; they had been made leaderless; they had been assailed by an enemy they thought safely bottled up. It was too much!

  With a single mob howl of utter dismay, the Lann turned and fled.

  The Dalesmen pursued them, smiting without mercy, taking revenge for all the bitterness they had suffered. Battle snarled past the time vault, turning to butchery, and went on down the street and lost itself in the forest as the Lann scattered.

  Carl sprang from the wall into Ralph’s path. “Father!” he cried. “Father, you came!”

  “Oh, Carl, my son, my son—” The Chief dismounted and embraced him in trembling arms.

  Night came, with stars and moon and a singing darkness. Men pitched camp in the ruins and slept for utter exhaustion. To the wounded, Lann and Dale alike, the gentle night gave rest and forgetfulness; over the dead it drew a shroud. The moon swam high in a winking sea of stars, touching leaves and old walls with a ghostly silver.

  Peace-Some were still awake, sitting about the hearth in Ronwy’s home. A fire crackled before them, the light of candles touched their faces and shone in their eyes. Ralph was there, sprawled in a seat of honor with his sword across his knees. Carl sat by him, holding one of Ronwy’s books in his lap and stroking its faded cover with shy fingers. Tom and Owl, the former insisting that his wounds were mere scratches, lay on the rug. Lenard, his head swathed in bandages, sat gloomily in a corner. The little witch-man, Gervish, who had followed Ralph to the City, hovered about trying to be of service to someone.

  Ralph was telling the story of his arrival. “Even if you haven’t won anything else, boys, you saved us by drawing off a thousand of the best Lann,” he told them. “When I saw them go away, I was sure they were bound for the City. I waited till they were safely distant, then led all our men out against those who remained.

  And this time we won! We broke them in the field. When their Chief fell, they scattered before us. Now they’re streaming homeward, beaten, harried by our forces just so they won’t get ideas about turning back. We’ve won!”

  “My father,” said Lenard dully. “He’s dead?”

  “Yes,” said Ralph.

  “I—I’m sorry,” whispered Carl.

  “Oh—I’ll see him again—in Sky-Home after I die.” Lenard tried to smile. “That makes me Chief of the Lann, doesn’t it? A prisoner Chief—” He bowed his head, then looked up with a sigh. “But I may be better off this way. This defeat may well break up the confederation….”

  Ralph went on: “Well, our folk were naturally full of glee and ready to lick the world. I took advantage of that—made them a speech pointing out that a thousand warriors were still loose up in the City, perhaps brewing magic against us and in any case nothing we wanted running free in the Dales. I got enough lads to follow me so I thought we’d have a chance. We hurried, I can tell you! We killed horses and nearly killed ourselves, but it was worth it.”

  “The taboo?” breathed Carl.

  “Donn came with us. I thought you knew that.” Ralph looked keenly at his son. “Never thought the old fellow could match the pace we were setting, but he did. I left him talking to your friend Ronwy, and—” He looked at the door. “And here they are!”

  The two old men entered, side by side. Donn paused in the doorway, looking beyond the chamber to a dream. An almost holy light shone in his eyes.

  “I have been in the vault,” he whispered. “I have seen the treasure there, looked at the high-piled wisdom of the books. I have read the words of that unknown who gave it to us, and I have talked with this wise one here—” He shook his head, and a smile hovered about his thin lips. “There is no evil in the vault. There is only evil in the hearts of men. Knowledge, all knowledge, is good.”

  “Then you’ll lift the taboo?” cried Carl joyously.

  “I shall urge the Council to do so, and I know they will. Afterward, Carl, you shall have whatever help the Doctors can give out of th
eir little wisdom, to rebuild the old world as you have longed.” Donn’s smile became almost a grin.

  “Even if I myself wouldn’t admit my error, which I freely do, four hundred lusty Dalesmen who’ve been to this place of wonder and come to no harm would have something to say about it!”

  It was as if a great brooding presence were suddenly gone, as if the wandering night breeze sobbed in a new loneliness. The gods were doomed—the cruel, old pagan gods of human fear and human ignorance felt their twilight upon them. And the darkness which dwells in every mortal heart cried out to the dying gods.

  Gervish was kneeling at Ronwy’s feet. “Forgive us,” he murmured brokenly. “We were wrong, all of us were wrong. The Lann from whom we sought aid would have ruined us. The Dalesmen, your friends, saved us; and the magic is not evil. Be our Chief again!”

  Ronwy lifted him. “Let there be no talk of forgiveness,” he smiled. “We’ve too much to do even to remember the past, let alone judge it. But bear this in mind, Gervish, and tell it to the people: We of the City will be among the first to benefit from the released powers. Above all, the lifting of the taboo makes us a tribe like any other, who can walk like men instead of shunned and hated outcasts.”

  Lenard spoke with sadness. “It seems that everyone but my poor Lann will gain from this.” A dark flash of menace: “They’ll come back someday!”

  Ralph shook his head. “I don’t know what to do about you people,” he said. “It’s true, I suppose, that you were driven by great need to attack us. But the same force will drive you against the south once more, and once again after that. If we are not to be plagued by endless wars-what can we do?”

  “The vault is the answer!” cried Carl eagerly. “Look, Lenard, there are plans and models in it designed for the use of people like ourselves, people who can’t hope to master the greatest of the ancient powers for many years yet. There are things we can do and build right now!”